Unforgivable Basorexia
by pocketbook
Summary: She felt exasperated, her back press against the cold stoned wall. His hand pushed the back of her head closer, the other wrap around her waist possessively. Her hand went and lost itself in his jet black hair, tugging gently as she pressed him longer to deepened the kiss. He moaned in her mouth. She felt electrified. She felt addicted, She felt sick. Time-travel. AU. HG/TR. OOC.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, seriously. If I did, I would've been filthy rich by now.**

**Author's Note:**I would like to thank the heavens forgiving me an AH-mazing BETA! **violin1027 ***kisses* without her, I'd probably die out of embarrassment for poor grammatical skills, tsk.

Anyways, I want to thank the people who volunteered even though they didn't get to beta. I really appreciate people who really pay attention and makes an effort. Sooooooo… even though I haven't finish this story, I'm starting a Dramione fic, a bit angst and stuff post-HPDH, so keep posted.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

READ AND REVIEW.

.

.

.

**Chapter: One**

.

**Basorexia; **_An extreme sick urged to kiss_.

.

.

**May 03, 1998**

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, Great Britain**

**.**

**.**

Hermione pushed herself up to a stand, dusting her pants and shirt in the process. Wincing, she held her left shoulder with her right hand, feeling the blood-soaked sleeves as she wobbled her way through the rubble. '_Death fucking eaters', _she inwardly cursed.

"_Scourgify._" Barely cleaning her bloodied clothes, she huffed and shrugged, trotting her way towards the Great Hall.

Just as she was about to round a corner, she felt someone grab her forearm and jerk her from behind. Dirty hands gripped her mouth and stifled her gasp. Her back pressed roughly against the stone wall, her eyes wide to adjust her vision, trying to identify the silhouette in the dark.

"Harry!" she hissed as she pulled the black-haired boy in a tight hug. Moving back, she eyed her friend, his school robes covered in dust and dirt, his glasses broken, and his hands gripped tightly around his phoenix wand. A distressed look hovered over his exhausted face as he watched the corridor for suspicious movement. "Are you okay?"

She blinked, tensing under his gaze. "Ah… yeah." She gulped, ignoring his tight grip on her shoulders.

"Where's Ron?" she asked, her eyes searching behind Harry, barely noticing Harry's quick hesitation. Then Hermione eyed him, blinking several times while forcing her tears back, her breathing hitched as she tried to erase Ron's pale, cold face.

She couldn't believe it.

It was just mere moments ago that they were running around the castle grounds, hands entwined as they fired spell after spell to the Death Eater gaining on them. It was two against one, but she and Ron were cornered. Although Hermione knew many spells, her lack of reflexes and battle mindset made things difficult, especially with Ron's clumsiness. For the first time, Hermione Granger was in a pinch; she couldn't think straight. Getting away, keeping safe, making Ron safe, and fending off the enemy was too much for her to handle. She even fleetingly thought of patting herself on the back for keeping a hold of herself for that long.

As they turned a corner, Hermione found herself flung across the hall, letting Ron's hand slip from her fingers. She felt her back make contact on the stone floor and her head slam on a pile of rubber before losing consciousness.

Now she was awake, with her forehead bleeding from a cut, her forearm aching from a curse, and her body exhausted, with no Ron in sight.

Harry gave her a quick worried look before pulling her hand and dragging her. "Where are we—", she stopped herself in mid sentence and stared at the familiar doors leading towards the Headmaster's office.

Stopping at the foot of the eagle statue, muttering the password _Hogwarts_, they hurried to enter the headmaster's office. Harry muttered a locking charm as he closed the door behind him. Hermione stumbled back, steadying herself as she scanned the once glorious office of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Ever since his death, it had been left untouched. Those silly trinkets he kept still laid in display, dust accumulating, evidence that no one had dared touch to his things.

Picture frames that held previous headmasters of Hogwarts hung empty against the walls and oddly enough, Hermione missed their senile chatters and bickers. Hermione glanced at Harry who was busy doing merlin-knows-what. Letting him be, she stared back at the empty frames, noting the names of the previous headmasters. At the end frame, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Albus' portrait—occupied, apparently—gleaming at her with his usual twinkle.

Hermione hated it, him.

She glared at him. The moment she laid her honey-colored eyes on him, she felt a hollow darkness growing inside her.

All those years of fighting, suffering, and witnessing death, Hermione blamed it only on one man—not Voldemort, _definitely _not him. No. She blamed her ill sentiments to the man, whose portrait hung proudly in front of her.

Hermione balled her fist in frustration. She has been a fool. Ironically, Malfoy was _right. _Hermione was stupid, naïve to think that the manipulative twinkling-eyed bastard did what he did for the 'greater good'.

She gritted her teeth, fighting the beautiful muggle foul language threatening to leave her bruised, cut lips.

She tore her gaze from the portrait and stared blankly at the frantic boy who was busy taking things from the headmaster's office and stuffing it into her beaded bag.

She eyed him. He gleamed with determination, courage, and pride like a true son of Gryffindor; it made Hermione proud to be his best friend.

Harry had suffered so much. His parents were dead, he didn't even know them, had never seen them or talked to them. She couldn't understand why Dumbledore had done it. He could have kept Harry, trained him to better prepare him for the war he was destined fight. But no, he didn't. He gave him to muggles who did not _bloody_ feed him him properly.

And as if that wasn't enough; he had to place Harry, barely eleven at that time, to face a dark lord, who haunted the wizarding world for 50 _damn _years, then lead him to face the Basilisk back in their second year. He would have died if it wasn't for Hermione's help. Even so, it was supposed to be _his _responsibility, not some puberty-phased children who lacked the better sense of what was dangerous or not.

But then again, Albus and all adult living wizards should have known better than to place their hopes on one boy.

She felt wet tears sliding down her cheeks and slowly she succumbed to quiet sobs.

Hermione couldn't believe it. _We_ _are going die._ A pitiful, wasteful, and useless death.

Harry stopped abruptly, startled as he observed her. The level-headed, proud Gryffindor princess, who paraded herself in front of purebloods with a triumphant smirk whenever she had bested them at Hogwarts, had finally crumbled. Her cool composure washed away as the realization of their dire situation finally settled in.

Harry felt the familiar wave of guilt overwhelm him. He dropped the beaded bag beside him, and gently approached the girl, embracing her.

"I'm so sorry." He muttered into her ears in a whisper, tightening his grip around her. Her knees quivered, leaning her weight into his body as she held onto him for dear life.

"This is my entire fault."

She pulled back, wiping the tears away as she looked at him in pure disbelief and sadness.

"You're wrong!" she explained, shaking her head furiously. "Harry, it is not your fault." She held his both his hands gently into hers as she looked deep into his eyes. "In fact…" she trailed her eyes away from him, glaring at their previous headmaster's portrait. "… it's that son-of-a-bitch's fault." She spat with much venom, as she glared at him.

Pushing her away, he shook his head in disdain. "What are you saying?" he muttered through gritted teeth. "How could you accuse Dumbledore, who has protected us all this years?!"

"How could I, Harry?! He lead us to our death, that's how! And in a silver platter, no less!" She glared at him, her hands trembling at her side. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Come on, Harry. Like you didn't doubt it for a second." She stared at him, crossing her arms.

"Listen to yourself, Hermione. You're just thinking stuff that doesn't make sense. You know Professor Dumbledore would never do that to us."

"You know, he has a very weird sense of '_greater good_'." Hermione muttered in a matter-of-fact tone, with her hands up making air quotations.

"Hermione, we're Gryffindors for merlin's sake! Even if you think Dumbledore is a manipulative bastard—as you so quote," Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "... it doesn't change the fact that facing Voldemort and stopping whatever plans he schemes, it's an obligation." Harry explained as he started stuffing things inside her beaded bag again.

Hermione glared at him, as she snatched her beaded bag from his hands roughly. He startled from the sudden movement and looked at her perplexed.

"Will you stop stuffing things in my purse!" she huffed, slapping his hands as he tried to reach and grab it back. "What the bloody hell are you packing things for anyway?"

"I'm sending you to Beauxbatons," Harry said, grabbing a weird trinket Dumbledore displayed on one of his bookshelves. "I heard, Voldemort has no plans in overtaking the French Ministry **yet**, for the next 30 years or so."

Hermione looked at him, astonished. "You can't seriously be thinking this." He shrugged in response, ignoring Hermione who slumped back into one of the leather chairs, her mind lost in thought.

She stared back at him, he was checking some vial in Dumbledore's personal potion cupboard. She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head, wishing she could read his mind. She always wondered why Harry was so hell-bent on killing his arch-nemesis. Besides the fact he was prophesied to and the fact that he was the one who killed Harry's parents, the war was officially over when Voldemort took full control of Hogwarts. In the end, the dark side had won.

Hermione knew how bad Voldemort was, but looking it at a new perspective; they lost the war and Harry, her, and other Order members (who survived and were in hiding) were at the top of Voldemort's death list. Shouldn't they have been trying to hide? Laying low for the mean time?

No.

But Harry was intent on killing Voldemort, going as far as begging the French Ministry to lend him some Aurors.

It's not that Hermione was giving up, in fact she wanted nothing more than to go back to a world where Voldemort didn't exist. But both her and Harry were inexperienced compared to Voldemort's fifty-seven years of dark arts and battle-exposure. In a duel, Voldemort would most certainly kill both of them.

Alas, Hermione was tired, emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. She wanted to go back to being a muggle, escaped the Wizarding World for a change, but there was nothing left for her. Her parents were dead. Now all she had was Harry.

Harry was the only reason that Hermione was doing her best to survive. Harry was the only person she had left. But no matter how many persuasions she threw at him, he refused to budge.

Personally, Hermione believe Harry was hell-bent on killing Voldemort because he was the reason he had to suffer maltreatment during his first 11 years of his life. Killing Voldemort was his personal revenge.

She knew Voldemort more so than Harry. She wasn't a Horcrux or anything—Merlin, no! But because she just knew. She knew how Voldemort's mind worked. How he came to decide the choices he made or things he did. Because in some ironic ways, Voldemort was as intelligent, ambitious, and curious as Hermione was and that reason made her have the right to keep her case.

She knew Voldemort wasn't really aiming to be the anti-muggle supremacist. No. Voldemort's mind ran deeper than shallow ambitions. He wanted something grand, something he believed he was worthy of. He wanted to be the most powerful Wizard of all time.

And more so, his beliefs strengthened when he learned that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir.

Voldemort's thirst for power grew in his time as a student, his belief that knowledge was power made Voldemort desperate to learn everything. To Tom Riddle, there was no such thing as good and bad magic. His favourite saying was, "There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it."

But as the Wizarding world grew, Tom aged more. And the truth is, no matter how much Voldemort read books, his life was too short. It scared him. He thought that by the time society acknowledged him, death would claim him and everything he had learned and accumulated would turn to waste. Voldemort dreaded it. That's why he was so obsessed with immortality.

Thinking about it, Voldemort, in a more human perspective, just wanted to belong, to fit in, to be recognized. He was deprived most of his life and that fueled his ambition. Voldemort reminded her of herself. Always trying to fit in, to belong, and to be recognized.

The whole _mudblood _cover-up was a merely a means to achieve an end. Purebloods were his stepping stone to power.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Harry approaching her holding two letters in his hands.

She arched her brow at him. "Here," he said, handing her the two letters.

"It's your safety net: that one is for the sudden transfer to Beauxbatons' Academy of Magic and the other one is your O.W.L.s results," pointing at the letters as he dictated.

"I'm not going to that French Academy while you are doing Merlin-knows-what." She huffed, trying to shove back the parchments into Harry's hands.

"You are! Voldemort already has a hold on Durmstrang and Beauxbatons is the safest place I know. They have a special _Fidelius Charm_, neither magic nor muggles can find it." He look at her, clasping her hands in his, "I need you safe and sound."

She slumped back on her chair, looking distressed. She understood Harry's need for her safety. Hermione was the only thing he has left. But Hermione wasn't the type to sit still and watch. She made things happen.

But Harry looked at her as if he was making her promise to him. Hermione couldn't let him down. She nodded her head hesitantly and Harry squeezed her hand in return.

A sound of stone rattling startled both of them. A bead of sweat fell from Hermione's forehead and Harry absently mindedly gulped.

Shoving the beaded purse in Hermione's hands, he dragged her towards the fireplace. As Harry was frantically searching for Floo powder, Hermione's eyes darted towards the door. She jumped at the sound of a click, and slowly it swung open.

Hermione's back stiffened, she gripped her wand to her side as she stared at glaring crimson eyes. Harry stood slowly, his eyes fixed on the snake-like face with red eyes in the doorway, an evil smirk gracing its monstrous features.

"I've been looking for you." He hissed, his evil smirk grew as Harry tensed.

"Hermione, no matter what…"

Voldemort's spidery fingers gently held the Elder Wand up, pointing. "_Avada…_"

"… don't come after me."

"… _Kedavra."_

As if in slow motion, throwing black colored Floo powder, Harry pushed Hermione into a blazing black flame, swallowing her whole. Hermione's fading screams echoed through the tower as a green light sped towards Harry before everything zoomed past her.

A familiar tight squeeze feeling enveloped her before darkness claimed her.

.

.

* * *

**.**

**Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, France**

**.**

Hermione shifted her body closer to the soft, feather-filled pillow where her body embraced it. She could feel the sun grazing her skin and she sighed against the wind that blew against her back. Her eyes fluttered open slowly as she resolved to wake up after realizing sleep could no longer hold her.

She sat up and stretched her upper body, rubbing her eyes all the same. Her sleepy eyes scanned the room, the ceilings were built high with chandeliers dangling and sparkling. The windows were adorned with blue silk and purpled-laced curtains and the glass shone quite polished. The marbled white floor glistened from the light, newly waxed and mopped. She looked at her bedside table, gently cupping the glass of water before downing its contents.

She stiffened.

Her eyes blinked rapidly as her surroundings finally dawn at her. She shrieked. She heard a hurried shoe-tap, as a medi-witch appeared from behind her purple screened partition. She was a red-headed Veela.

"_Oh, c'est bien que tu es éveillé._" **Oh, it's good that you're awake**. Hermione blinked at her. Her ascent made Hermione sigh. For a fleeting moment she had thought that Voldemort had caught her. "_Attends un moment, je vais appeler la directrice pour toi._" **Wait for a moment, I shall call the Headmistress for you**.

Although Hermione didn't quite understand what she said, she could pick out some French words that she knew to know that the medi-witch was calling the Headmistress. Good thing that she had read a muggle book about learning the basic French language when she went home for Christmas the year before her parents died.

"_Oui, s'il vous plaît et merci." _**Yes, please and thank you**. She said it with her mock French accent due to constantly conversing with Fleur during her wedding.

It wasn't long when a tall, petite woman wearing blue, silk, sparkling robes stood at the foot of her posh hospital bed. She stood in a snotty and dignified way, her makeup so heavy that she looked as if she was glaring or scowling at everyone. Hermione found herself scared of the woman.

"Here, drink it." She spoke in French as she stretched out her perfectly long fingers, holding a vial filled with a red silk-like liquid. "It's a healing potion."

Hermione raised her brow, wondering if something else was mixed in it, but drank it nonetheless. She figured after all the hospitality that she was receiving, one drink couldn't hurt. It tasted sweet like cherries and syrup, so muggle.

Placing the empty vial on the side table, Hermione shifted so her back relaxed on the headboard before looking at the tall woman.

"I'm Jeanne Devvaux, Headmistress." She curtsied, both twirling her hand delicately outward as she bowed, her eyes boring at Hermione.

"Uhm… Pleasure to meet you Headmistress, I'm Hermione Jean Granger." Hermione returned a curtsied, wondering what happened to Headmistress Olympe Maxime.

"So what brought you here to _L'Académie Beauxbâtons de la Magie?"_ she asked, setting herself on the leathered chair beside Hermione's bed.

"Professor Dumbledore sent me here." Hermione grabbed her beaded purse lying on top of her bed side table, rummaging it and giving her the letter that Harry handed her.

She felt her heart thump louder when she realized that she hadn't really read the contents of the letter, but as she watched the Headmistress reading it, she released a sigh when she saw her nod.

"It seems Albus owes me a favor, now. But not to worry dear, the school year has barely begun. I think you'd fit in nicely at Beauxbatons, but I'm afraid most of the students have not returned this year, in fear of Grindelwald's rising power."

Hermione blinked, holding in a gasp, "Excuse me?"

"Oh dear, you do not need to be afraid of him. He is currently in Germany. Although, the blinding glow that erupted the day we found you, we thought it was Gellert finally attacking France. That's why most parents opted to take their children out from school. But so far, Gellert has made no move," she explained in hush disbelief, waving her hand to the silly notion.

Hermione was dumbfounded, unconsciously gaping. Gellert Grindelwald? Hermione clearly remembered it. As she read _Hogwarts: A History_, he was the dark wizard who terrorized most of Europe during the 1940's and early 1950's. But the Grindelwald she knew was dead, imprisoned by Albus and killed by Voldemort.

She suddenly felt like all the air in her lungs stopped coming and she was suffocating, her hands trembled. No wonder Madam Maxime wasn't headmistress; she was thrust back fifty-ish years to the past, where Madam Maxime was not headmistress yet. And what was more, she didn't know how to get back.

She remembered that Dumbledore had warned her about meddling in time. Fifty years worth of valuable information were at her fingertips, if people knew, her life as well as the future was in grave danger. How could this be happening?

She started coughing, holding back her tears. The woman in front conjured more water to fill her glass and gave it to her. Hermione drank it whole, gasping as she quenched her thirst.

"Well, my dear, I shall be taking my leave, I have much to attend to. I'll be calling the Head girl to escort you to your new dormitories and of course, if there's anything you need, do not hesitate to ask." Hermione nodded at her.

"I hope you have a pleasant stay here in Beauxbatons," she said before disappearing from the purple-colored partition.

.

.

.

* * *

**.**

**Three Months After, November 1945**

**.**

Hermione was sitting in a posh seat in front of a newly varnished desk adorned with a laced tablecloth that shimmered. She shifted in her seat, pulling down her blue silk dress that was threatening to hitch up. Her back was straightened and her black stocking-covered legs were crossed as she stared at her Headmistress who was busying replying to a letter.

After giving the letter to the owl, hooting as it flew out of the window, the tall yet petite woman stared at Hermione. In the three months she had stayed in Beauxbatons, Hermione had changed. Her bushy, brown locks were tamed to stylish slick and shiny curls, a lighter shade of brown. She wore light makeup, her lips a pink shade that shined and the freckles on her face gone. Her posture was fixed like a ballerina, with her back straight and her head inclined.

Hermione's opinion of Beauxbatons hadn't changed from back in 1994 when they had arrived for the Triwizard Tournament. In the all girls school, every girl was groomed to be like a delicate lily and perfect housewife—in pureblood standards, of course. Their courses mainly consisted mostly of the Hogwarts curriculum but with the addition of etiquette, art, and music.

Beauxbatons differed much from Hogwarts; for one, there were no houses, but students were divided based upon the skill they had, like academics, arts, and sports. The library, which Hermione clearly took notice of, wasn't as varied as the one in Hogwarts. Aside from that, Beauxbatons' social areas, like the lounge, garden, sun room, tea area, and the theater were extravagantly beautiful. Even Hogwarts could not compare. Fleur was right, Beauxbatons did glitter. It was heaven for Barbies.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione snapped her attention back to her Headmistress, blinking a few times before acknowledging her with a nod.

"We have received word that Gellert is overtaking the French Ministry, and this has forced me to decide for an abrupt close to school, temporarily of course."

"But Headmistress, if you are closing the school, what will become of the students?" Hermione asked her voice a bit higher as she tried to contain her disbelief.

"A lot of them have opted to stay with their parents. I have advised them to go somewhere away from Europe. You, on the other hand, I have something to tell you, that is the reason why I've called upon." Headmistress Devvaux handed Hermione a letter with the Hogwarts seal attached.

"I have sent a letter to Headmaster Dippet as well as Professor Dumbledore about your sudden transfer to Hogwarts. I have arranged the Abraxans to transport you to Hogwarts this afternoon."

Hermione sat worriedly, not because she was moving away from Beauxbatons—Merlin! Beauxbatons was unbearable—but because staying in France kept her from destroying or interfering with the timeline. She gulped, deep down she also knew that Hogwarts has the best library in all of Britain, and chances of her getting back to the future were possible. But she worried. Voldemort was one of Hogwart's best students of all time, he was not dumb and innocent, he was bound to notice. And Voldemort had a very curious mind.

She clenched her acceptance letter with a tight grip with trembling hands. "_Merci_," She replied through gritted teeth, standing up and bidding farewell before leaving.

.

.

.

* * *

**.**

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

**.**

Tom Marvolo Riddle stared blankly at the book he was reading moments ago, but held it nonetheless as if he was. He was currently lounging in the Slytherin common room, the fireplace lit, and his plush seat situated in front of it. His dark green-blue eyes glistened with the crackle of fire and his angular porcelain face looked paler over its flames.

_Unforgiveables, Dark Curse, and Hexes _by Alexander Hamilton_, _titled the book but Tom couldn't concentrate. His mind kept drifting to the odd dream he had been having for the last three months. He had dreamt that the sky burst into colors of gold, orange, and red like sunset in mid day and something was falling from it, gold glitter glistened at its tail before landing on a soft pile of green grass. Images of bushy locks, long lashes, and porcelain skin were so clear to Tom, who kept wondering who the girl was.

But one thing kept nagging his mind, she had whispered his name, "_Voldemort…"_ It sounded ridiculously melodious in his ears. It hinted of sadness, fear, and angst, and the depth gave Tom's heart a loud thump. She also knew about his dark name.

Every night Tom dreamt of her and how her rosy pink lips murmured his name under the dark green grass. Her helpless and broken figure looked as if a Cruciatus curse had hit her a dozen times, and she mesmerized him

_Who is she?_ Tom Riddle wondered more.

"My Lord…" Tom snapped from his thoughts but did not look up, closing his eyes and opening it in a solemn manner; his eyes trailed the letters of words of the book he was reading. There was always an unspoken rule that threaded the line of the wrath of Riddle and no one dared cross it. Except for the black, curly-haired boy kneeling before him.

Tom stared at him; his head was bowed, not looking at Tom. Snapping his book, he watched him flinch. Looking up, he noted almost two dozen students who were still lounging in the common room, eyeing them.

"What is so much important that you have to disturb me during my reading, Lestrange?" Tom snarled in a monotone, his face in a blank and expressionless face as he stared down at the boy.

"My father has asked me if you wanted to spend the Holiday with us, we have a family vacation home at Canes and would be perfect for Christmas."

Tom eyed him. Truthfully, ever since he had known that he was the direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin and the Gaunt's ring was present on his ring finger, most of the pureblood parents have given him gifts, marriage proposals, and invitations for the last two years.

But doing something unproductive on vacation was the last thing on his list of priorities. Tom thought about it for a second, weighing his pros and cons, his pros outweighing his con, but of course, he contemplated. He was sure if he denied Lestrange's offer, more offers would come. Lestrange's public invitation incited others and given the next hour or so, someone would approach him to invite him too and the opportunity that someone would offer better than Lestrange wasn't good enough to pass.

"I shall think about your offer, Marcus." He replied. Tom wasn't stupid enough to reject Lestrange's offer, the Lestranges were a powerful pureblood family in Europe and it was good to have them by his side. But so were the families of Avery, Rocier, Malfoy, and most especially Black. Tom had heard Alphard and Abraxas boasting about their family homes, especially the one where they mentioned of their collections of dark books which Tom was interested to read.

Tom stood and darted towards the portrait hole, his followers stood as he did and bowed slightly as he passed by them.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

As he walked back towards the Head's suite, Professor Slughorn called after him. He felt his face twitch in annoyance, it was a good thing that he was facing with his back at him. He schooled his features, pasting a pleasant and polite smile as he turned to his potions professor.

"Yes Professor? Do you need help with something?" he asked politely.

"Tom, m'boy! I've been looking all over for you." He huffed, putting his hands on Tom's shoulder, which took Tom every ounce of control to hold back swatting Slughorn's his slimy, sweat covered palms off of his Oxford white shirt.

"I was just in the Slytherin Common room, sir." He muttered, posing his blank and expressionless look.

"Oh, yes—yes. I was heading there myself. But enough about that! I have come to invite you to one of my parties the night of the last day of class before Christmas break and this time Tom; I was hoping you'd find yourself a good date." The old man smiled as if a father was encouraging his son to date. Tom faked-smiled in return.

Tom wasn't ignorant of the opposite sex. In fact, Tom had had his fair share of women in his bed, many of whom had thrown themselves on him. But Tom had slept with only five women in his life, for reasons such as marriage for investment, dark artifacts, and of course experience.

"Of course, Professor. I shall not disappoint you." He oblidged as he gently shrugged Slughorn's hands off him, and turned to leave. "Ah-! Before I forget, Tom. Headmaster Dippet asked me to tell you to accompany a transfer student from Beauxbatons' tomorrow morning, since you are a Headboy. It seems McGonnagall isn't available. I heard that she is participating on a project given by Albus."

_Her_? Of course, Tom read it in some books of a French academy, an all-girls school somewhere in France. Tom nodded to his professor before finally turning to leave. A transfer? That was unlikely, but also understandable. Tom's sources told him of Gellert's forces advancing in France. But nonetheless the sudden transfer of a student perked his interest quite a bit. Tom was looking forward for tomorrow.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Tom's perfect physique glided in a princely manner as he walks towards the main doors of Hogwarts. The news of a transferred students from Beauxbatons spread like wildfire and students were crowding the front court, waiting for the familiar Pegasus approaching the school from the morning skies. The students cheered with curious eyes, as the powder blue carriage whistled in the sky and gracefully landed on the stoned floors of the front courtyard.

The students bustled closer when the sound of the carriage door creak opened. The blue leather ballet pointed shoes stepped out of the carriage, gracefully making a stand in a fairy princess manner, her symmetrical blue dress glittering under the morning sun, her long legs covered by black stockings, standing proudly, and slender. Her hair hung loosely in soft curls, her hair a lighter shade of brown and her blue sleek, pointed hat adorning her hair. She wore simple makeup but her lips painted in blood red.

She folded her hands behind her and gently posed and waited for someone to pucker up the courage and talk to her. Tom eyed her for a moment. He could see her nervously shaking a little bit, not really noticeable. Her eyes darting slowly from left to right trying to decipher the faces of the crowd. He watched her chewed her lips and parted her curls to her back and returned back to her earlier pose.

Tom chuckled.

He didn't made a move, watching her under the scrutiny of crowd that watched her like a hawk as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Suprisingly, she reminded Tom of _Her_.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Hermione stared nervously at the crowd looking at her. She schooled her features to appear calm as she waited beside her carriage for someone to approach her and direct her or something—Although she could find her way by her own. Her hands trembled as the waning seconds passed.

On cue, a boy came marching up to her. She gaped. _Merlin..._

His long graceful stride made him look like he was walking on clouds. Hermione eyed him. He was immaculate and marbled in beauty and Hermione noted he was by far the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon. Funny, Lavender or the Parvati twins would remember him, for sure.

As he stood in front of her, Hermione could now discern that he was beyond any beauty of the gods. He exuded perfection and mystery that Hermione found herself looking at his eyes that changed color from blue to green to grey. His lips were an unnatural red, so much so that Hermione unconsciously bit her lower lip. She mentally scolded herself. _Get a grip, Hermione._

But Hermione felt quite put off, there was something she could not put her finger on. He was beautiful, mysterious and somewhat dangerous. She just couldn't help but be attracted to him. He was both charming and frightening.

She reached out her hand and smiled at him in a flirtatious manner. "_Bonjour, je m'appelle Hermione,_" she spoke, enunciating her improved accent. He smiled at her and Hermione could feel her heart beat louder inside her chest.

He stretched out his hand, clasping hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. Hermione felt herself melt with his touch. Her fingers curled to lock with his hands and returned his gesture.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, my name is…" His voice was heavenly, like it was coated in sugar and cream. She cringed, a jolt of electricity shot through her body. Her eyes found his lips and she couldn't help but think what would it like to be kissing such a heaven-sent gift. She let out sigh.

"...Tom Riddle" Hermione's back quickly stiffened, her eyes furiously blinking, as her mouth parted slowly. She swore something flash red in his eyes for a second.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, seriously. If I did, I would've been filthy rich by now.**

**Author's Note: **I would like to thank the heavens forgiving me an AH-mazing BETA! **violin1027 ***kisses* without her, I'd probably die out of embarrassment for poor grammatical skills, tsk.

**Thanks to: ellebelle12, Hawkflight7, KhaalidaNyx, LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL, 93, MystereRaven **for the reviews! Honestly I appreciate reviews because it gives me a clue what others thoughts about the my story especially the chapter. Thanks to those who **Favored **and** Followed**. and the views :)

**Thoughts:** Like I said in the previous chapter, Hermione isn't like your typical girl in some Tomione stories. No out-of-the universe powers and super fighting reflexes. She isn't as strong-willed as before and she will cower under Tom's presence. I made her impossibly human, putting my shoes in hers and subjected myself to how I (generally how humans) would react if subjected to such terrifying trauma. She's still bookish and very intelligent... that would never change. Although in some ways, the story would appear anti-feminist, that's because Tom is dominating by nature and I made him more darker. There love isn't as romantic as I pegged it for, it can be one-sided or entirely dangerous... so expect, expect.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

**seriously.**

READ AND REVIEW.

.

.

.

**Chapter: Two**

.

**Blurred Lines**

.

.

.

**November, 1944**

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, Great Britain**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"...Tom Riddle" Hermione's back quickly stiffened, her eyes furiously blinking, as her mouth parted slowly. She swore something flash red in his eyes for a second.

It was like experiencing the minute before her death, everything flashed before her eyes. The long forgotten memories that she had compartmentalized and pushed back in the deepest corners of her mind over the months that she had stayed in Beauxbatons came flooding.

It took a minute for Hermione to compose herself, she looked at him, switching from fear to a disgusted look before settling with no expression at all as she snatched rudely her hands away from his grasp.

"Erm—_Vous devez être le préfet?_" **You must be the prefect?**

He studied her and his smile faded. His eyes blank and stoic, he arched his eyebrow as he calculated her, a defining silence enveloping them. She fidgeted under his gaze, avoiding his eyes as much as possible.

In the future, she knew Voldemort was an expert Legilimens, but she wasn't sure where he had learned it or when. She did have a few theories of the possibilities where he had learned it, her biggest guess was he started learning during his time in Hogwarts and to what degree he was now, she didn't know, therefore concluding it was best (for now) to avoid eye contact.

Truthfully, he was much more terrifying now than he was fifty years later. Standing there looking like a supermodel and being all silent gave Hermione shivers up and down her spine. Disgustingly, she preferred the Voldemort with the chilling hiss of a laugh than this silent, Adonis-look-a-like Tom. At least his future self was more open and straightforward, however; _this one_… the silent ones were always the most terrifying.

He abruptly turned and started walking; Hermione startled and hurriedly followed the boy in front of her as they entered Hogwarts. Undeniably, she was having a hard time catching up to his long strides, she nearly huffed in exasperation. Doing quick steps a few times whenever the distance between them grew longer. She mentally cursed him, glaring at the back of his head.

Hermione couldn't help but stiffen when she heard his name… okay, fine! Maybe she scowled and glared at him—a little. But that's because Voldemort was supposed to be ugly, demented, and evil! Not some angelic, heaven-sent Adonis. She didn't know that. Only Harry knew what Voldemort looked like in his younger years, well… Harry did mention he was indeed good-looking.

Hermione sighed. Such an understatement.

He towered over her, probably a little over 6 feet in height. His body was lean, thin but well-built, his school robes did nothing but insinuate his perfectly sculptured body. His hair was jet black, parted at the sides neatly which made his lantern jaw and high cheekbones visible. His eyes were a gorgeous blue-green with thick eyelashes that gave depth, and his lips were naturally red and very kissable.

Undeniably Gorgeous.

She mentally gagged. Hermione felt disgusted and frustrated at herself.

She was indeed attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? Tom Riddle was like a god. Not even Draco and his seem-to-be Veela features could compare to the dark lord. She often wondered how he would come to be a monster 55 years after. Bald, nose-free, spidery complexion flashed inside her mind, and she cringed at it.

Maybe because of the Horcrux, tearing his soul and such.

But then again, souls don't take shape or appearance. _It was definitely something __else_, she concluded.

"Do you understand english?" He stopped abruptly, turning to her. She stumbled back, barely holding herself before she collided with him.

"I was raised in England before I went to Beauxbatons." Her French accent disappeared and she stammered.

"I see." He eyed her for a second before shrugging. He started walking again, she followed after him.

Hermione's mind kept replaying the events of not moments ago. His voice was velvet and silky. It was one thing about his face but boy, his voice was beyond. Everything about him invites you in… Dazzling. Er…

_Stop thinking about him._

She mentally berated herself. She sighed inwardly. Going back an hour was one thing back in her third year, it was a whole another thing going fifty-five years back. Opting to stay in Beauxbatons than going straight to Hogwarts was entirely because she didn't want to disrupt or change the time-line… and she was slowly accepting her predicament too!

But fate seemed to have a grudge on her.

Avoiding Hogwarts was impossible to say the least. Although a small part of her was glad she was back to a familiar place, she didn't like the fact that staying at Hogwarts, the possibility of a change in the future was exponentially bigger. It scared her. Dumbledore always warned her about it.

But then again, to truly think about it, the opportunities that presented itself to her were too delicious to ignore. Looking at it, tweaking a little bit of the past doesn't necessarily change much of the future.

She read about it, a compilation of essays about theories of time in the Beauxbatons' library. It wasn't really explained in detailed, but the author mentioned that in every timeline there would always be a constant variable. And Hermione knew what that variable was.

Definitely, Tom Riddle becoming Voldemort would always be the future fifty years after.

How he came to be Voldemort, she didn't know. In her timeline, he made Horcruxes, seven all in all. In this timeline, she wasn't sure yet.

One theory explained about some basic structure, but it was only a summary and was not explained in detail. She mentally noted that she had to go to the library after dinner.

She refocused her mind, noting the abandoned but familiar corridor. Unconsciously playing with her wand inside her dress pockets, she eyed Tom's back as he briskly walks towards the gargoyle statue at the end of the corridor.

Both of them fell to a stop in front of the gargoyle statue. He turned towards her.

"This is the headmaster's office," he said, gesturing towards the gargoyle statue. It was replaced to an eagle when Dumbledore became headmaster in the future. "Headmaster Dippet is expecting you. You are to be sorted into your house then given your schedule."

"Sorted?" she asked dumbly, schooling her features to those of curiosity.

"Each student here is sorted into four different houses namely Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. How you get sorted depends solely by the Sorting Hat, how he decides that I do not know," he explained as he motioned her towards the hollow space of the gargoyle as he muttered the password.

"Uhm—thank you." She called after him giving him a soft smile. _He did help her_.

He looked taken aback then politely smiled in return, "Good luck, Hermione," he muttered, smiling charmingly at her as he disappeared behind the stone wall. She could have melted—could have, if only he didn't remind her of snake-face.

Hermione knock a few times as she came face to face with the wooden doors that open towards the Headmaster's office. She heard someone muttering behind the door and awkwardly Hermione pushed it opened, peering her head through before fully going inside.

"You must be Hermione Granger from Beauxbatons?" His low, hoarse voice echoed throughout the empty room. It was surprisingly empty. There were books and some trinkets, but not as many trinkets when Dumbledore became Headmaster.

She nodded to him, bowing elegantly like how she was trained in Beauxbatons. It was customary to bow towards people as a first greeting especially towards people like school's head and professors. She looked up to him, as he was beaming at her.

"Yes, yes… shall we proceed to business?" he inquired.

Hermione eyed the Headmaster. He was exactly like how he was described in _Hogwarts: A History_. He wore the standard blue robes, his hair grey and almost bald, and feeble, his hands were shaking as he held the letter in front of him. He was also a lot like Slughorn,

She nods, "of course."

"That's good, that's good—well then, welcome to Hogwarts, before anything else, sorting to your h—"

A knock came from the door, and a young Dumbledore came in, still red in hair, his beard still a shade of auburn and both were still short in length.

Hermione didn't deny it, she had missed Dumbledore.

Aside from his manipulative self, he was still the only Headmaster and professor Hermione loved and admired. He was also the only person Voldemort feared. She guessed when he died, Hermione couldn't help but look at the mess he had created and villified him for it.

It meant that she was simply human.

The fear Voldemort laid grew ten times more when Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy tower. It was as if the world had come to an end and three of them, Harry, Ron and Hermione struggled under the pressure, the expectations of the people that laid on them as their last hopes.

That's what drove Hermione to the corner. Why Dumbledore did it, planned his suicide, she did not know. But she blamed him all the same.

"Armando, I was dropping by to remind you of the meeting with Galatea before dinner." His voice was low and wise, just like how he was in the future. He eyed him; before he turned to Hermione. His eyes looked surprised as he finally noticed her.

Dippet eyed him through his square glasses, "Ah—yes, yes." He looked at Hermione as he stood up, "I'm sorry m'dear, but I must leave as of the moment. This here is Albus Dumbledore, you're transfiguration professor. I hope you don't mind Albus, I haven't sorted the transfer student yet, now I'm running late for a meeting." He turned to Dumbledore as he neared to the door.

"Not at all Armando," he chimed, a twinkle in his eyes as Dippet waved, disappearing behind the door.

Hermione stared at the door for a fleeting moment before turning back to Dumbledore, again she bowed towards him.

"Shall we?" He said as he motioned Hermione towards a tall empty 4 legged stool. She nodded to him, sitting at the pointed stool.

Hermione looked at him, as he placed the same tattered hat on top of her head.

"Ah, such a mind, such a mind." The sorting hat whispered to her mind. "Future, past, present, present, future, past…" he chanted, as if he was debating something unrelated.

"Can't decide, can't decide indeed."

_Just put me in Gryffindor. You put me there before._

"Patience," he hissed at her, "Time-traveler aye?" Hermione mentally snorted.

"Where to put you? Where should I? Brilliant mind, hmmm… Ravenclaw? No, no…" Her eyes search above her head, trying to balance the hat as he started fidgeting on top of her.

"Surely not Hufflepuff?… definitely not Hufflepuff. Hmmm…. Gryffindor? Possibly," he mused.

_Yes! Gryffindor!_

"But my dear, Slytherin will do you wonders." He explained.

_No, definitely not Slytherin… shouldn't you take my decision into consideration? Hey! Hey—_

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat announced after five painstaking minutes of consideration. Hermione panicked, a distressed look graced her features as Albus removed the hat from her head.

"_Stupide, vile, putain de chapeau dément!"_ she muttered under her breath as she hopped off the stool. Dumbledore eyed her as she started grumbling to herself.

"Well then, congratulations are in order." He clapped his hands to her; she tightly smiled back at him. "This here is your schedule, quite a schedule it is." She awkwardly nods back, accepting the parchment.

She scanned the list. She was retaking her sixth year. Back in her time, she didn't finish because of the attack in the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore's death plus the time when the three of them opted to drop out in search of Voldemort's last remaining Horcrux.

She was taking the usual, Advance Transfiguration, Advance Charms, Advance Potions, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Study of Ancient Runes. Given her previous O.W.L.s' results, she had the privilege of taking an additional two classes more than allowed to other students.

"Uhm—thank you." She stammered. He looked at her calculating, the twinkle of his eyes glimmering under the candle light.

An awkward silence fell, and Hermione found herself looking nervously wary in his presence.

"You know…" he started. "… for some reasons, I owe Headmistress Jeanne a favor or two," he explained in a sly tone as he eyed Hermione.

Hermione unconsciously gulped, "Really? I hope you're big in favors," she stuttered slightly, as she looked away from him. She had totally forgotten about the letter, the letter he wrote to supposedly Headmistress Maxime in the future. Of course he would question it, Hermione didn't doubt that one day he'd know about it, but she didn't expect it to come sooner.

She wasn't prepared to give a concrete answer since there wasn't any loophole to it. Hermione concluded that it was best to keep it light, but the truth. She observed him for a second, debating to what level should she tell him about. Keep it light and simple.

Although, Albus was sly and manipulative, his intentions were purely good. He was essentially good.

"Professor…" she started, raking her brain for any last minute objections, "I was…" She gulped, hesitating for a moment. "I was—uhm, if I did something that would, like say, put everyone in danger whether it was on purpose or accidental…" She eyed him to see if he understood her, he nodded in her direction. "Would you still condemn me for it?"

He looked at her warily, a moments hesitation as if he was contemplating, "I would not."

"I see." Hermione nervously nodded to him, deciding not to press the issue. She still wondered why Dumbledore's opinion about her mattered. But then again, Dumbledore was the only thing she had right now.

She looked at him again, "If I told you that I came from the future, would you believe me?" she blurted, her hand shaking behind her, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

If he was surprised, he did his best to hide it, instead he beamed at her, "Then let the future be. Now shall we proceed to dinner? I heard an excellent dessert is served," showing her towards the door.

Hermione stared in disbelief, "But professor! You don't understand—"

He hushed her mid sentence, he twisted the doorknob, to open the wooden door. "Sometimes, there are things in this world that are best kept secret. It is not our place to meddle with it. If by chance we are given an opportunity to, then we must give the best of what we got." She looked at him as she proceeded to exit the room.

She looked back at him, "What if I need your help?"

"Then you know where my office is." Hermione nodded as they trotted down towards the Great Hall.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Tom Riddle sat silently at the head of the long table of their house opposite from the professor's table; watching his peers chat in hush whispers, their topic, the '_Beauxbatons girl_' as they had dubbed her.

"I heard from my cousin who went to Beauxbatons that she was a genius, top of their class." Tom inclined his head towards a boy whose hair, tousled and black, curled at the tip, a Vincent Avery.

"And a beauty too." Gabriel Nott continued, raking his brown locks away from his face as he took a bite from his dinner.

"You and your sentiments. I, for one, do take into account whether the girl has curves," an ash white blonde, Abraxas Malfoy spoke as he slid to a seat besides Avery.

"Like you care whether she has curves or not, Malfoy," Gabriel snorted as Abraxas started digging in his dinner. "You're willing to shag every last person who has a cunt."

"At least, I had the decency to man up to my _manly nee__ds_," he spat, crumbs of his toast spraying across the table. Vincent playfully slapped the back of Abraxas' head, making him choke, coughing furiously as he tried to reject the piece of meat lounging in his throat. Both Vincent and Gabriel erupted in fits of laughter as Abraxas glared at both of them, downing a glass of pumpkin juice.

Tom stared at them before turning away, tuning out their voices as they started an intense conversation about Quidditch. He found himself thinking about the new girl. She wasn't as pretty as Millicent Parkinson but she was pretty enough to walk around with. Nott mentioned she was smart, very smart. That was a bonus. She didn't lack on her assets. She wasn't stick-like in figure, but she was petite enough. He estimated she stood barely 5'5 in height.

His thoughts wandered back to the first time they met, she was beaming at him, _flirting_ even. But as soon as their hands touched, she flinched from him. Horror and angst bounced back and forth, sometimes bordering to a glare but then she settled in a stone, blank expression, talking to him through gritted teeth.

After that, she flinched at everything he did and she wouldn't look at him in the eyes.

He would be a liar if he told himself he was not surprised. She acted as if she was revolted by his mere presence and it was damn infuriating. Whenever he called her out, she stiffened and looked at him in the brink of tears, but then she'd bite back and glare at him.

Tom was puzzled by her.

"Well the student called her _l'or étincelant, _French for glittering gold," Vincent commented in a faux French accent, snapping Tom from his reverie.

"Why call her that?" Abraxas inquired, recovering from his recent predicament. Vincent leaned in forward, "Do you remember the _Red Flash?_"

_Red Flash _was the nickname they have dubbed towards the blinding sunset lights erupting during the mid day three months ago. "I heard it happened near Beauxbatons, my cousin told me that the prefects and the staff found a girl lying right below the eye of it, she was shimmering in gold glitters too. It was speculated that the girl is the transferred student. Given that she is smart, pretty, refined, and magically gifted, everyone thought she fell from the heavens, but those were just rumors. The professos' lips are sealed tight."

Tom released an arch on his brow. So what he saw in his dreams were visions, one mystery solved. As he was starting to get lost in his thoughts, Dippet's voice echoed through the hall, taking a few seconds for the chatter to die down.

"In accordance to recent events, what with Grindelwald's troops advancing to France, our sister school has given us a wonderful addition by giving us straight from Beauxbaton's Academy of Magic, Miss Hermione Jean Granger!" he bellowed and a round of applause erupted throughout the hall.

In cue, the door burst open revealing a girl wearing the traditional Beauxbatons uniform, a one piece symmetrical silk blue dress, with a half-blue coat. Her blue, dew drop, pointed hat, sat angular on her head, her curls lying lazily on her shoulders as she lightly tapped her blue leather shoes, approaching the Headmaster. She was followed by Dumbledore.

She bowed elegantly towards the professor's table, turned and bowed again towards the students, blue butterflies erupting from under her robes.

"Yes, yes… settle down now." Dippet announced giving a few seconds before the sound died down. Tom watched her as she stood still beside the Headmaster, her back straight and elegantly, looking straight, as if her vision zoom past the faces of students.

Tom observed her more after she came in with the old coot, Dumbledore. Another mystery piled on as he questioned the relationship between her and the professor.

Well, given that Dumbledore came into the picture, Tom could speculate much that _Hermione_ was someone very important. Someone Grindelwald would go to great lengths to acquire, even to invade France and for Dumbledore to transfer her here of all schools in the world.

Tom smirked. _Hermione_. Everything about her is a mystery. The fact that she appeared out of nowhere and the Daily Prophet had zero scoop about this meant that the Ministry of Magic was involved, which means whatever she was hiding would become the biggest thing in the world.

Good thing, Tom loves puzzles.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Hermione scooted at the far end of the table away from Tom. A few Slytherin girls and a whole lot of boys threw her curious stares and she fidgeted under their gaze. Her mind drifted back towards her encounter with Dumbledore. She guessed that expecting Dumbledore to understand her predicament was a long shot.

Merlin! How could she even think that Dumbledore would understand? Not that she would even think that Dumbledore would have help. Dumbledore had always had this weird sense of 'Greater Good' and his own brand of morals and principles. Really, deep down, Hermione knew Dumbledore would not do anything unless it benefited him one way or another, but then again, what was going on inside the future Headmaster's head, Hermione didn't know.

She snap out from her thoughts when she felt someone slide in the empty seat opposite of her, Hermione looked up to find a replica of Pansy looking at her except her hair was curled into a 40's updo.

"I'm Milicent Parkinson." Her beady blue eyes bored into Hermione's brown orbs as she smiled fakely and held out her hand. Hermione awkwardly accepted hers, giving a hasty shake before retreating her hand back, "This Vivienne Greengrass…" pointing towards a dark-haired girl who looked a lot like Astoria, currently immersed in her book.

Seriously, is there suppose to be something against genetically born with the same face of your past?

"… and this is Julie Davis," she finished, indicating a girl with black, curly hair and a pale complexion sitting beside Vivienne. Hermione stiltedly smiled at them.

"So… Granger, right? Never heard of it."

"I was born with a muggle name." Millicent raised a brow at her.

"So you're a _mudblood_ then?" Her tone was cold and sharp, accusing her. Hermione blinked back the sting that came with her tongue lash. She gulped, raised her chin, straightened her back and leveled her eyes at her.

"No, of course not," she said firmly. "My father was a half-blood and my mother was a pureblood." Hermione wince as she lied. Back in her time, she could have easily and proudly said she was a muggle born, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She had to blend in. It was a must.

Millicent looked at her, eyeing her sharply before giving her a sly smile. Hermione returned her gaze with a firm one. Crossing her arms over her chest, "Welcome to Slytherin," she chimed, smiling, a smile which Hermione doubted was welcoming. Without looking away, "Vivienne," she called out.

Vivienne look up from her book. "Why don't you show Hermione around." Millicent's request seemed more like a command and immediately, without question, Vivienne stood up and gestured Hermione to come with her. Although Hermione wanted to decline, by the distressed look Vivienne had given her, Hermione gave up and followed suit as they both exited the great hall, ignoring the blatant stares.

As they arrived in front of the entrance of the Slytherin Dungeon after many winding corridors, "Salazar" Vivienne hissed and the stone door shuffled open.

Hermione couldn't hide the surprise when she entered. The common room looked like it came from a fairy tale book. The floor was tiled in green and the couches were decorated in silver embroidery over black felt.

It was grand to say the least, cold, but fit for a king.

"So this is the Slytherin common room," Vivienne announced snapping Hermione from her thoughts. "The boys are on the right, girls on the left." Hermione nodded in understanding.

Vivienne strode towards the stairs leading towards the girl's dormitory, "Sixth year, right?" Hermione nodded. "You're dorm room is on the third floor, last door to your right. Your bed is on the far corner. Change into your school robes and meet me back in the common room," she instructed.

Hermione followed her directions towards her dorm room.

As soon as she entered, Hermione plopped herself on her bed, her face hitting on a green felted feather pillow. Slytherins did have a thing for refined furniture. The dorm rooms were very different than the ones she had seen. In her dorm alone, every bed was a canopy, made of African black wood (most expensive wood in the world), and finely carved with serpentine carvings. Her curtains were green silk with silver lace embroider till the foot of the bed, her feather pillows were of a green felt fabric and she had cotton black blankets.

She snatched a parcel off her bed and made her way towards the bathroom. The 1940's uniform was very different from her time. It was much more conservative, but insinuated femininity. Her white, long-sleeved, padded, female Oxford shirt tucked under her black pleated skirt, that hung just an inch above her knee. She wore black stockings and black shiny pumps. She wore a green stripe ribbon tied around her collar. She looked like those female airplane conductors back in the nineties.

She slipped on her black robe, with a green laced border. She did her hair using some hair spells she had learned from Beauxbatons, curling it just at the tips, parting it to the sides. She put on light makeup, making her lips a luscious red before deeming it enough.

She exited her dorm room and headed towards the common room.

Sure enough, the common room was pack by the time she had arrived. Most of the couches were occupied, especially the ones around the fireplace. Hermione's eyes darted from the somewhat familiar faces that were gracefully lounging on the couch. She spotted Vivienne standing aside a long black couch, she was motioning Hermione to come closer.

"Hermione, meet everyone." Vivienne's catty voice sounded as she gestured towards the crowd.

"That's Vincent Avery…" she said, gesturing towards the guy nearest to them. He looked up and smiled at Hermione, catching her hands and placing a kiss at the back. Hermione fought back a disgusted look that was threatening to grace her face.

"… Beside him, Gabriel Nott." She gestured to a boy who was currently immersed on his game of Wizard chess. He briefly looked up and smiled before turning back to his game,

"The one he's up against is Marcus Lestrange."

Hermione noted each person, remembering their faces, how they were seen fifty years in the future and on an old album tucked away in Dumbledore's possessions. They were the same as always, snotty and arrogant looking. Looking around, she found most of the Millicent gang huddled up in one couch reading Witch Weekly magazines and chatting in shrieking voices. _Shrieking Banshees_.

She noted in that one arm chair was faced back at them, facing the crackling flames of the fireplace. Hermione felt her heart twinge, her hand automatically clutched her chest, a throbbing pain shot through her body, and she felt like she couldn't breathe all of a sudden.

_Calm down Hermione. You've met him already. It's not like he'd kill you with everyone present_… _would he?_

Vivienne motioned for her to follow, but Hermione couldn't find it in herself to move. She felt Vivienne grip her forearm and yank her forward roughly. Hermione slightly stumbled.

Again.

Under the mere presence of Voldemort, Hermione's memories of her terrifying youth came flooding to her eyes as she held back the tears. She struggled under Vivienne's tight grasp, her fear escalating.

She noticed the room went silent, and she could feel all eyes on her.

_Oh god, please god. Help me_!

"Tom…" Vivienne started and Hermione's heart went overdrive. Before when he had escorted her, they were in the public eye, now here, they were enclosed in the four walls of the Slytherin common room, Voldemort's domain. She was like a rat, trapped in a wire cage.

Hermione felt a sudden shift in the air like everything had stopped. Tom stood up from his seat, a charming smile plastered on his face. Hermione felt herself shivere.

"Miss Granger, we meet again." His soft velvety voice slithered under her skin and she cringed at it.

She gulped. "_M-monsieur _Riddle," she stammered, looking away.

He snatched her hands from her side in a tight grip and she winced from the pain. He planted a sweet kissed at the back of her palms, not letting her go. She stiffened, fighting the urge to scramble back to the dorm room and hide for next fifty years or so.

There was a defining silence as he eyed her like hawk, everyone went still and his grip grew tighter and tighter until she let out a small gasp.

"Well, then it's quite late…" he chimed, releasing her hands from his grip. "Why don't you take a rest, Hermione. It's been a long day." _A long day indeed._

"Miss Greengrass, escort Hermione back to her room." He commanded and Vivienne was by her side. Hermione was breathing heavily as if she was catching her breath. He turned to her, his green-blue eyes sparkled, a hint of red flashing for a second.

"Meet me here by 8." He ordered and involuntarily Hermione nodded, before shuffling towards the stairs up the girl's dorm.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Tom looked at her retreating figure as she disappeared through the stairs that led towards the girl's dormitory. He let out a sighed before returning back to his chair… throne.

She was infuriating really, that girl. Again, she looked as if she was about to cry when he was near her. She quivered and fidgeted in front of him as if any minute now he'd _Crucio_ her. Although he preferred that people feared him, the extent that the girl cowered in his mere presence told Tom that she knew something about him, something that indicated that he was bad news.

Tom wondered even more what that girl knew.

That's why he ordered his knights to watch her, especially ordered annoying Parkinson to befriend her even though she had clearly refused. But when Tom ordered, everyone followed. Afraid she'd be at the end of his wand, Millicent grudgingly did as asked.

When he met her again in the common room, he eyed her cautiously. Her repulsion wasn't more evident to others than him, although she flinched and fleetingly displayed disgust with his circle of 'friends'. She was subtle and civilized. But when she came face to face with him, she cowered, quivered, and stumbled in angst.

Although she was pathetic, in a way, for some insane reason, Tom found her beautiful.

Yes, she was indeed beautiful in her broken stature.

She was as fragile as she was soft; when he gave her a little scare, a shiver went up to his spine. He loved it.

_Hmmm… _he wondered what tomorrow might be.

Something interesting perhaps?

Well, he was looking forward to it.

* * *

sadist much Tom?

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW :)

**A little reminder:** Since school's starting, I'm updating really slow, possible one chapter after a week or two, but be patient. I promise to update as soon as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, seriously. If I did, I would've been filthy rich by now.**

**Author's Response: **1,818 views, Yay! thank you so much to those who took the time to read. I really appreciate it. REALLY. hehe. Anyway, I'd also want to say thank you to those who followed and favoured, seriously, I want to put a special mention by putting up your pen name, but it took a time to copy and paste it and at this point I'm quite lazy, sooooooo... letting you know that I know you and that I'm very thankful.

To those who review! THANKS!

**TheLightningScar: **Thanks so much for the review and insight. First of, I agree with you, Hermione is not a weak witch. Although in the first part of the story she comes off like that, it's because she really is afraid of Tom Riddle which is a trait she originally has. The scene where Bella tortured her, I used that image of her. She is still as head strong as ever, that would NEVER EVER change, but it will be on the future chapters of the story. At this point, I'm still establishing Riddle as a non-fluffy love sick fool. I have nothing against writers who loves to change Voldie's persona, but I prefer my Tom to be evil, cruel and dark, SO definitely no humanization. He will not LOVE Hermione, that's for sure, but he will care for her in his own vindictive way. I'm using Voldie's sick obsession for magnificent things as the basis of his growing fondness for Hermione. Secondly, the reason why I chose to place Hermione in Slytherin because I don't want her to have the same train of thought like in other Hermione-Gryffindor stories (no offense). Like I said, I'm not aiming to humanize my Tom and in this way, it helps me ground a foundation for Hermione's personality in the future chapter, which I won't reveal for now.

THIS CHAPTER IS A BIT CLIFFY, so expect expect expect for the next.

**LASTLY!**

SUPER thanks to **violin1027 **for Beta-ing this chapter too. love yah girl! *kiss*

I don't seriously know how this Beta things works, but if you are interested just pm me. British English is seriously not my first language and unfortunately this is my first fic, so my grammar and writing is kinda crappy, please bare with me.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

READ AND REVIEW.

* * *

.

.

.

**Chapter: Three**

.

**Trap**

.

.

.

* * *

_._

_._

_._

_With closed eyes, her naked body shivered. his fingers piano tapped, tracing her spine up to her neck joint. His other hands lightly caressed her sides, she arched her back towards him. Her hands cupped the sides of his cheeks, her nose touching his sweating forehead, as he kissed the crook of her neck._

_She moaned, gripping the sheets of the bed._

_It was so hot, steamy hot. She could see her breath in the air as she exhaled._

_Leaving butterfly kisses, he gave a quick deep kips on her bruising lips before he went down to kiss the hollow of her chest._

_She sighed, her fingers lingered and lost in his tousled, half-damp hair. His gave a slow lick at the side of her breast and she moaned breathlessly._

_She gasped when he roughly nudged his knee on her centre, snickering when she tugged on his hair. He slid his fingers over both of her wrists and pinned them above her head, his other hand tracing her bottom lip._

_She opened her eyes, her vision blurred and confused. She blinked, adjusting her eyes. She could feel him looking at her, smirking even. But she was too intoxicated by his scent, confused and in a state of stupor._

"_Hermione…" he whispered her name and her body shook._

_Then, lightning pain shot through her body, her breath caught as she gasped, feeling a cold, steel, iron driving into her body. She focused and she stiffened. The familiar face sneered at her as he gave her another stab at the sides and she let out a gasp. Red eyes glowered at her._

"_Stop… it… " she begged, reaching out to push him away, but he only snickered at her as he proceeded to give her another stab at her shoulders before retrieving his wand. Her arms went limp on her sides. She could feel cold death crawling under her skin as she fought on to stay awake._

"_Please… Tom…" she begged again, but he only looked at her, disgusted, before bringing up his wand and pointing it at her. She looked at him, feeling a tear slide from her eyes. His lips moved._

"_Avada…"_

Hermione woke screaming, beaded sweat trickling down the side of her cold, pale face, staring frantically at the wooden ceiling of her canopy bed.

She lay there, unmoving. Feeling the rhythm of her heart go into a slow pace and her breathing even. She waited for a moment, using her hearing senses, trying to find out if someone had noticed. Thankfully, the light snore of her roommates echoed in the room, indicating that everyone was still asleep.

She groaned, ungracefully kicking her blankets off as she peered at the drawn curtains, noting the early rise of dawn before trotting her way towards the bathroom to take a long shower.

As soon as the water hit her face, she let out a sigh, her thoughts wandering off back to her recent 'nightmare'.

"Tom Riddle…" she mouthed, unconsciously licking her lips. Even in her sleep, he continued to both enamor and haunt her, grudgingly admitting that her thoughts were currently occupied by him. Recalling yesterday's event, she quivered, feeling the fear she had felt back when she was surrounded by 'them'.

_THEM._

Cold, _insane,_ mindless freaks that followed Riddle's every word. This was how much Riddle's power and hold was. He was not even his charming self around them. He was the silent, egomaniac who loved to _Crucio_ anyone he had come to hate.

She whimpered, remembering how Bellatrix had tortured her, carving the word _Mudblood_ on her forearm with her wand as she laughed like it was most fun thing in the world. Bellatrix was Voldemort's most loyal servant. But no matter how painful and traumatic her experience was, it was nothing compared to this.

She was practically thrown in a den of hungry, poisonous snakes and **Tom** was the king cobra of them all.

**Tom Riddle**.

Her problem couldn't get any bigger than it already had. Now she had to juggle staying alive, keeping the future a secret, and keeping the future away from Riddle. She shivered. What would Tom do if he found out that she knew the future in 55 years? He'd do anything for it, skin her alive even.

She desperately needed to go to the library. It was the only thing that made sense in her mind right now. Although if she told Dumbledore that Riddle was going to become an evil murdering psychopath, it was the same as telling him the future and Dumbledore wouldn't want to hear it. She didn't understand why and never bothered to ask anyway. It wasn't the first time Dumbledore had disappointed her.

First she had to keep her the future a secret. But how? She could deliberately blind herself, but Tom would know the cure anyway. She could probably try to ignore or avoid him, but that was impossible. Tom Riddle demanded attention. Hmmm… Occlumens charmed jewelry, perhaps? She had heard Harry talk about it when Snape deemed him stupid after Harry had failed his lessons on Occlumency.

The question now, was how would Hermione find one? Or make one even?

She mentally added that to the list of things she was going to search in the library.

She closed the tap and exited the shower. Casting a drying spell on her hair and fixing it in a low-do before donning her school uniform and robes. She quickly made it to her bed grabbing her bag, wand, and some books before going down to the common room.

Hermione found Riddle lounging in his chair, currently engrossed in his book, his hair well-kept, his uniform, neatly pressed and clean. She coughed accidentally and he snapped his book shut to look up to her.

Hermione immediately looked away, staring at the ornament on top of a table. Peering at him from the corner of her eyes, she found him still staring at her, eyeing her in a calculative manner before standing up and sauntering towards her.

Coming to a stop in front of her, she straightens her back and gulped. "_Bonjour, Monsieur Riddle. _How's your morning?" she asked.

He smiled at her charmingly, "Lovely." She briefly looked up at him and gave him a quick smile before turning away again. "Let me see your schedule." She handed the neatly folded small piece of parchment to him which he immediately read.

"It is quite surprising for a girl to take more courses than required," he commented. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Not every girl is as idiotic as you think they are," she spat, staring stoically at him.

His hand shot fast, the palm of his hand came into a sharp contact with her already flushed cheeks, the cracking sound enveloping the empty black-green common room.

She looked at him dumbfounded. Her words stuck in her mouth as she stared horrified. He looked at her expressionless, and his hands lay at rest by his side.

"It's not becoming of a man to hit a lady, but I'm not accustomed to being disrespected. So, don't ever speak back to me, you stupid little wench!" he hissed, glaring at her.

She looked away from him, gulping, gripping her books near her chest as she fought back the tears that were starting to fall down her cheeks, "Give me your books," he ordered, rudely snatching them away fom her hands.

His other hand roughly gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes slammed shut automatically, as her body started trembling under the intense pressure from the force of his magic that was starting to crackle in the air.

"For the umpteenth time, you have looked away from me." He sighed, letting go of her chin as he stared at her still closed eyes. "It irks me, you know. One would think presumably, that you have many more secrets than the wealth that the Blacks have at their disposal."

She blinked her eyes open, still looking away from him. "I have nothing to hide." She glared, straightening her back. Her eyes focused on the stone wall behind him.

He smirked at her, crossing his hands over his chest. "There's not a human in this world that doesn't have a secret or two."

She balled her fists, gulping then committing herself into a pattern of breathing exercise as she daringly challenged him, "I am not afraid of you _Monsieur Riddle._" She spoke in her French accent at his name passed her lips.

He chuckled at her, earning him a flinch from her. "And here I thought, I've figured you out." He said it in a mocking voice.

"Well you thought wrong." She hissed almost immediately, to which he smirked slyly as he stalked towards the portrait hole, her following him meekly.

"We'll see about that," he said, smiling charmingly at her before shoving her out the portrait hole harshly, now with him behind.

_Talking about split personality._

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Hermione stared at her bowl of cereal, her hands playing inanely with her spoon as she breathed out a sighed. After coming to breakfast together with Adonis-reincarnate, she was forced to sit next to him and his circle of friends.

Looking opposite her, Gabriel Nott was immersed in a conversation with Abraxas Malfoy about Quidditch and their upcoming game with the Hufflepuff, to which Hermione quickly ignored, having had enough it in the future way back with Harry and Ron. She turned to her left, Marcus Lestrange's nosen was buried in his potion books, his lips moving slightly as he recited the ingredients of Polyjuice potion.

Her eyes darted further down the Slytherin table, Millicent's group comprised of two seventh years, three sixth years, and two fifth years plus Julie Davis. They were huddled together as they whispered to themselves, with the exception of Vivienne, who was buried in her Ancient Runes book.

She turned to her right, eyeing the Prince of Slytherin, who was currently drinking his cup of coffee while reading the _Daily Prophet_. It was odd seeing him so regal and mature, drinking coffee and reading the early morning paper like an adult. He was definitely not like the other boys. He acted like a mature adult. Gobbling down breakfast like all testosterone-filled, chauvinistic, horny barbarians, (commonly known as the 'male species') was beneath him.

"Stop staring," he blurted, sipping from his cup. Startled, Hermione almost lost her grasp on her silver spoon.

"Excuse me?"

"When you stare, you make it too obvious." He had finished his cup of coffee.

Straightening her back, she said firmly, "I did not stare."

"Yes you did, and you do have this odd habit of straightening your back whenever you lie. It's quite reaffirming." She gaped, turning her head away, bewildered.

The screeching sound of his moving chair as he stood up gave Hermione a startle, prompting her to look at him as he slid his bag onto his shoulders effortlessly, his books plus hers in his hands as he stared down at her expectantly.

She looked away from him abruptly, glaring at Nott who was looking away from her. "Shall we?" he ordered, rather than asked, a charming smile gracing his face.

"Y-you r-really don't have to." She hesitantly refuted, but the once charming smile faded so quickly to be replaced by a glare, Hermione had to swallow a lump.

"Get up," he hissed. Hermione stiffened in her sit, the dangerous tone in his voice almost making her shiver, but she was determined not to be like the rest of his spineless puppets.

"No." she said firmly, "I can ask Vivienne to show me to my cl—" Riddle yanked her off of her chair before she could finish, his grip on her forearm giving so much force that Hermione had to suppressed a gasp. She looked towards Nott and the others for help, but they blatantly ignoring her and Tom.

She felt herself being pulled towards him, his lips hovering beside her ears as if he was giving her a peck on her cheeks. "What?" he hissed dangerously, "You don't want me to show you?" Hermione shook her head furiously in response.

Riddle eyed her for a little while before a fake smile spread across his face as he straightened back up. "Come now, Hermione. We don't want you to be late for your first day now, do we?" he questioned; again Hermione shook her head furiously.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Hermione kept her head down as she followed Riddle out of the Great Hall towards her first class of the morning, Herbology with Professor Herbert Beery. Stopping in front of the glass door of the school greenhouse, Riddle peered in and beckoned someone inside.

Hermione watched as a boy a few inches taller than her with black tousled hair, pale, white skin and a face that reminded her so very much of Sirius straighten up nervously, swallowing a lump and then hesitantly shuffling towards them.

"Cygnus Black," Tom introduced as the boy gave a curt nod in her direction, which she returned with a smile. With a wave of his hand, Tom dismissed the boy. Hermione watched him stalk back to his place in a hurry. Tom turned to her as he handed her books, which were received by her with a grunt.

"You are to sit next to Black in every class you have with him. You are to be with him at every minute of every day except in those instances when I am with you." Then he proceeded to fix her robes and straighten her green and black striped ribbon. "If, by chance, you can not follow such simple instructions, put it inside your little, insipid mind that whatever I do to Black will be at your expense." She glared at him as he stared down at her expressionless. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." She muttered, before Riddle shoved her inside.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Never would Hermione imagine that she could come to hate the house that she was oh-so proudly sorted by. Sitting with them was such a pain, and she often wondered how the Slytherins back in her time handled such open hostility. The glares in her direction and the snide remarks she had been receiving the moment she had set foot inside the castle were unbearable, it was like being convicted of murder without a trial. She grudgingly admitted that she was glad Slytherins of her time had had the decency to criticize her outside of class.

She set herself in between Cygnus and another boy from Slytherin. They both assisted her in placing her bag and books neatly on the side table behind them.

"_Merci beaucoup," _Hermione muttered as Cygnus handed her a pair of dragonhide gloves.

"Riddle's new pet," he whispered under his breath to guy next to him, donning his own pair of gloves.

Hermione gulped, setting her gloves down while straightening her back. "I'm not Riddle's pet," she hissed.

He eyed her as the corner of his lips curled to a taunting smirk, "And so you say you are."

She glared at him more, her fists balled at her sides.

"What makes you any different, then? A cowering, pitiful maggot, that's all you are," she spat. He glared at her, his smirk disappearing from his lips. She felt her hands trembling and quickly hid them behind her.

Then he chuckled lowly. "I don't get why Riddle see in you." She arched an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean? He hates me."

"He tolerates you." He interjected this, both of them returning their focus on their pots as Professor Berry entered the class. "If he did hate you, he'd not think twice to curse you."

"_Cruciatus curse?_" She replied automatically to which he hushed her, his head bent down as he opened his book. Hermione look up, eyeing the other students, before opening her book.

"So who can tell me what this plant is called and what its importance is?" Professor Berry announced as he raised the plant higher. Hermione's hand automatically went up, earning a smile from the Professor.

"Ms. Granger," he said.

"It's a _Fanged Geranium, _a common garden plant that is known to bite or attack if not taken care of. Its fangs are quite poisonous. One bite can cause an extreme panic attack and seizure, eventually leading to death, hence dubbed one of the dangerous plants according the Ministry, but it's fangs are also used as potion ingredients like healing potions if handled properly," She explained

"Excellent, Miss Granger. Take 5 points for your house. Well then—" Hermione drowned out his voice, returning her attention to Cygnus who was currently reading the page about said plant.

"Why haven't you informed the professors about it?" she whispered, harshly donning her own pair of dragon-hide gloves.

"And what? Do you think that they will believe _Perfect_ Tom Riddle would do such a thing? Never. He has every professor wrap around his little finger," he explained with a low voice, looking up and nodding as Professor Berry instructed them to replant the _Fanged Geranium_ and extract its fangs while doing so.

"Not all of them. I heard Professor Dumbledore is suspicious of h—"

"The old fool is suspicious of all Slytherins in general," he hissed, grabbing his pliers and starting to clip the fangs of the plant. "Whether he suspects or not, it won't change the fact that he does not have any proof. Why else did Tom get away last time?"

Hermione looked at him questioningly, finishing up replanting her plant. "Last time?"

Cygnus paused, surprise embedded in his eyes, turning to her. "I forgot, you're new." A bored expression spread across his face as he returned his attention to his book.

"What is it then?" She demanded, halting in her work. He looked at her, his brows knit in contemplation. "I guess you'd best hear it now than later. Last year, a girl was found dead in the second floor lavatory." She gaped. Of course, _Myrtle_.

"No one knew how she died and who caused it, but before events escalated to that, there were cases of a few students, _mudbloods_ in particular, being petrified. The old coot was suspicious, but he did not have proof. We Slytherins knew it was Riddle. He did not say it, and we don't know how he did it but we all knew it was him, heir to Salazar Slytherin," he said cautiously.

Realization dawned at her, how she could forget, The Basilisk still existed in this time frame. _Shit_. She began recalling the monster that haunted her back in her second year, how she was petrified. She felt her body quiver, turning away and focusing on her plant.

She eyed Cygnus who was now focusing solely on his plant. "Do you hate him?" she asked.

"Hate who?" Cygnus looked up, an arch on the eyebrow.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Riddle," She stated nonchalantly.

He looked away for a second, thinking. "I don't hate him, nor do I particularly like him. More like respect and fear. Riddle is abnormally dangerous, if you take a little time to observe him."

She nodded to him, effectively insinuating the end of their conversation, her attention back to the project at hand.

She didn't understand what Cygnus' answer meant, but he was right that Riddle is abnormally dangerous in a mysterious way. He was very secretive but he did not have any qualms of shaving the fake mask off inside close quarters. It made her wonder what really his M.O. was that made him so unpredictable.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Classes went by as a blur for Hermione. The curriculum had not changed much and some of the lessons, she had encountered in her earlier years way back in the future. Although she didn't participate much in class, but she did answer difficult questions that were posed, earning her of course brownie points for her house.

It didn't take much for Horace Slughorn to invite her into his little exclusive club and she grudgingly agreed when Cygnus warned her that Riddle was a regular of said event and that it would be wise to agree rather than deny Slughorn and then learn later that Riddle wanted her to come. It was suicide doing things against Riddle's wishes.

Recalling their conversations earlier, she mentally added to her list of worries the existence of the _Basilisk_.

She had often wondered why Riddle had not commanded the humongous snake to depart from Hogwarts, but then again, she was thankful he did not. They would have lost if Riddle had kept his pet by his side during the war.

Currently walking towards Dumbledore's office, she was worried when Cygnus had insisted that it was fine for her to go off on her own while she waited for him to finish class. She tried to warn him about Riddle's warning, but he swatted the warning away like a fly, and smiled at her like it was going to be okay. With still a worried expression, she nodded hesitantly.

Knocking as she came to halt in front Dumbledore's office door, she heard a muffled 'come in' before turning the knob and pushing the wooden door open, letting herself in.

"Afternoon, Professor," she greeted, standing in front of his wooden desk. She eyed the room and inwardly smiled as the trinkets which he had collected lay scattered at different places and corners in his rooms. It was nostalgic to say the least.

"Ah—Miss Granger, I was wondering when you'd stop by. May I offer you something? Lemon drops, perhaps?" He looked up, pushing his square glasses up as he gestured to a plate of desserts set aside on his desk, standing up from his chair.

Shaking her head, "No, thank you."

"No? Well then what brings you here?" he said, grabbing his purple robes and tucking it between his legs as he leaned on his desk.

She straightened her back, bringing her hands behind her, "I was hoping I could get a year-long access in the Restricted Area."

Eyeing her, "Restricted Area?."

Looking away, her hands balled to a fist behind her, "Sir, "she started firmly, "You told me, if I needed help, you'd help me."

"Ah—yes, yes." He nodded back, his eyes sparkling.

"There are books in the restricted area that may help me."

He slightly stared at her wide eye, the twinkle in his eyes disappeared and a calculated look grace his old feautures.

"You see, Miss Granger, I'm not really accustomed to letting students, _unexperience_ students like yourself delve on a matter that is beyond your control. They are called Dark Text for a reason."

She inwardly groaned trying to restrain herself from glaring at him. _Merlin, help me,_ she prayed.

"…But if you insist, I will grant you one day and one day only."

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Library was supposed to be her haven, but after talking to Dumbledore and having him lecture her about his stupid principles and morals, she was starting to get a headache. As if he had the right to talk about it. He was in fact the cause of all the miseries that she had experience back in the future. Dying in his own accord—stupid old bimbo!

The student cleared way as she stomped towards her destination, her mood escalated with every step she took. Merlin! He had the nerve to look at her suspiciously when he was the one who'd dismissed her when she tried to explain her predicament. Fucking old coot.

She sighed, arriving in front the entrance towards the library. The smell of old parchments and paper backs erupted to her nose and she felt her shoulders relax. God, she missed this library. It was her home inside her home. She remembered how Ron and Harry have to lure her out during the O.W.L.s' exams. It was hilarious, bribing her with pitiful looking chocolates and excuses of Dumbledore's meeting.

She proceed down the long aisle of books, her feet leading her towards the deepest nook and corner of the library where she usually sat during her time. It was private, to say the least. There was only one entrance and the vertical and horizontal aisle enclosed the space.

She sat her bag on top of a lone table, grabbing a book that she 'borrowed' from the Beauxbatons' library in her bag. **Theories of Time and Space: A Compiled Essays**, it read. She flip it opened, nuzzling on her seat and began her read.

_Time is like a web of parallel universes. Different futures created from the different decisions and actions we have done and decide. There is always a future where you made a wrong decision and a right decision, concluding that the future is predetermined. It is theorized that from the webs of parallel universe, there is always a constant value, the unknown factor, according to E.J. Lippincott…_

She closed her book, sighing. She couldn't remember how many times she had read the book for the last three months. Although the case of time paradox was raised during the creation of the time-turner and the time-consistency which stems time-paradox, it was heavily refuted by _Novinkov_ with his **self-consistency principle** in the mid-80s; That 'nothing can be changed because anything a traveler does merely produces the circumstances they had noted before travelling' which means that anything that would happened right now will not affect a preset future, of course sourcing it by E.J. Lippincott.

She put down her book and prompted her right elbow and rested her head on her palm, her other fingers tapping the wooden table. "E.J. Lippincott…" she ghostly whispered.

Who was **E.J.** **Lippincott**?

_Shit._ She really needs that pass for the Restricted Area, but sadly Dumbledore was still 'deliberating' on it. The old coot seriously has some major trust issues.

Looking at her wrist watch it was five minutes past three. So she stuffed back her books in her bag, slinging it over her shoulders as she headed to Cygnus' class.

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

"What?!" She exclaimed loudly, the grip on her books tighten over her chest as she looked at the person in front of her, which she couldn't remember his name for reason because she was too focus on the fact that Cygnus has gone missing half-way during the lesson.

She held her other hand to his face, "Wait." Her brows knitted in confusion, "Are you telling me that Cygnus out-right disappeared into thin air?!" she exclaimed again, her eyes bordered into a glare.

"Well…" the boy in front of her sweated, "technically, he did not disappeared, more like he didn't returned."

She glared at him for a second before waving him off, "You've got to be kidding me." She muttered under her breath.

"Shit, shit, shit. Fucking shit." She cursed loudly as she started to jog down the crowded corridors of Hogwarts.

Her feet hurried, spiraling down the stone stairs towards the dungeon. Her heart beating faster with every step she took. _God, please be alright._ She prayed, her mind racing to the memories she had hidden beneath her mind. The faces of people who was tortured and killed in the hands of Tom Riddle, flash in lightning speed.

After turning to the next corner, a muffled scream echoed the stone walls of the Dungeon. Her feet frozen, her heart hammering as each time she forcefully took forward, the screams grew louder and louder.

She gulped, the screams stop as she stop at the entrance room of the Slytherin common room. She stammered with the password and with shaking hands clapped at her sides as the stone wall shuffled to create an opening.

Drown with the sight, her eyes could not believe it. Men clad in black surrounded the twitching and bloodied Cygnus Black laying on the floor. Their faces void from emotions as they watch him with disinterest.

Riddle sat in his favorite chair, his fingers fiddling his yew wand, a cruel smirk played on his lips. "I did warn you." He muttered, his wand loosely pointing at the poor lad, "_Crucio_." He cast and Cygnus began jerking, his screams echoed through-out.

Hermione's knees gave out, her books and bag slid off her grasp as she watch helplessly at the suffering boy. Her hands quivered at her sides, her eyes began to blur as hot streams of tears slid furiously down her face.

"Stop." She whispered, but Tom merely quirked an eyebrow at her, whipping his wand again to Cygnus and bringing him another more painful Cruciatus.

"Stop, please." She begged loudly, pleading him sincerely while casting Cygnus worried looks.

Tom took the time to give Cygnus a minute to savor the curse he cast on him before he lifted it. He stood up, gracefully gliding towards the miserable girl. He stood in front of her, staring at her stoically.

Abruptly, he grabs a fist full of her hair roughly, yanking her head back as she was forced to look at him. Her crying face brought a sincere smile to his face, "What did you say? I didn't quite catch that." He mocked wickedly.

Hermione shivered, blinking the tears away, "Please, stop it. He can't take it anymore." She begged.

He smirked at her for a second, letting her hair go as he turned around, dismissing the crowd and ordering the others to take Cygnus to the Hospital Wing.

She stayed where she was the whole time. Her feet sprawled and her eyes staring blankly at the stone floor. Her face dried of tears and disheveled make-up. He sat gracefully in his chair that was facing her. He eyed her, unmoving.

"Come," he beckoned.

Hermione stiffen, shaking as she looked up to him with fear-filled eyes as she tried to stand up. She took an unsteady step towards him, with every step her eyes grew afraid, her stifled sob grew louder and louder. He outstretches his hands and she took it, shakingly and gently, he places her on his lap.

He tucked away the strands of her hair behind her ear, his touch gave shivers up and down Hermione's spine. She cowered, as she cupped her cheeks with his hands and thought she was frightened, ironically she felt the safest in his touch.

"Will you disobey me again?" he questioned sincerely with a hint of an underhanded tone. Hermione shook her head, leaning her face on his palm, as if she wanted to be petted.

Tom Riddle, smirked, "Good girl." He muttered, snaking his hands at the back of her neck as he pulled her to a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: Oh yeah, didn't y'all know now? C",)**

**Author's Reponse: **3,906 views, yay! Again, I'd like to thank all y'all for reading, favoring, following, and reviewing. Though, I'd really like to reply some of your questions, there's a huge chance I'll be saying some spoilers which by the way, I have been saying in some of my notes… well, anyway, I'll just be replying to specific reviews, you okay with that? Ain't?

**TAKE NOTE:** Since my BETA is going on tour *yay!* she asked me to take a break, so now I'm BETA-less for this chapter so those people who want to BETA this chapter, PM okay? This chapter is not EDITED yet. I sorely dependent with BETAs, sadly because I could not proofread my work because I suck at it. Don't know why.

**APOLOGY**: So sorry for the long wait. Schools taking a toll on my free time and my parents are hard press on my quarter report card. I need A's but I swear next week, I'd be posting the next chapter. I'll be posting also my pending other story, which is being proofread by now.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

READ AND REVIEW

.

.

**Chapter Four**

.

**Scream**

.

.

Hermione stifles a gasp, feeling his teeth sink in, biting her lower lip. His tongue went dip, licking her insides, his hands pressing her toward him as he went deeper. She kissed back, tasting something salty as she let her tongue dance with his.

Feeling her lungs giving up, she brought her hands to his chest, pushing him slightly. But he encircles his free hand around her waist, trapping her. She starts to panic, she felt she was drowning and she tried to push harder on his chest, adding more force to her hands.

She squirms, but he held her in place. Her fist starts to pound to his chest, but he kissed her, biting her lower lip again and diving his tongue in her mouth, moaning as he felt him hit a soft spot. Desperately, she bit him hard on his tongue and he hissed, roughly pushing her off of him to which she landed with a thud on the floor.

"You bitch!" he hissed, licking the trickle of blood from his swollen lips. He glared at her exhausted figured currently sprawled on the floor, heaving heavy breaths. She weakly scrambled to her feet, pushing herself up.

"I-I've heard better insults." She snorted through her pants. "Tell me, Riddle. What's like to kiss a _bitch_?" She asked, trying to get up on her knees but failing miserably.

He looked at her, his eyes glowering; contemplating her as she struggled to get away from him as far as possible. He gave her a smirk, leaning his frame on his plush seat. "You're quite feisty for a bitch…"

"But I like a challenge." He replied after a pregnant pause.

"Come on, Riddle. We both know, kissing me isn't something you do it in a daily basis." she exclaims clutching her chest trying to calm her furious beating heart.

"Oh? Pray tell, Granger, what should be doing?" he said nonchalantly, quirking his eyes brows at her.

"You're a manipulative, ambitious bastard." She declares. Tom quirked an eyebrow at her, "You're sick!"

He narrowed his eyes on her, contemplating her heavily. A slight curve at the corner of his lips, and he chuckled softly. Hermione's inside turned at the sound of his voice.

"Well, you got me all figured out don't you?" he mock, to which Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, in anticipation.

"Hardly." She muttered under her breathe.

"Come on then, Granger. Let's stop playing this silly game. " Leaning back onto his leathered arm-chair.

"You think I don't know you?" she exclaimed, directing a furious glare at him. "What will the others think when they find out that the person they are oh-so following was just a mere _half-blood?_"

Hermione barely blink. Finding her back against the wall, Riddle's fingers encircle her neck, his other hand holding his wand point at her dangerously. His eyes glowered red as he glared at her.

"What did you say?" he hissed at her dangerously, his face inches away from her.

Hermione gulp, "You heard me."

Hermione eyed him slowly, feeling a drop of her sweat sliding down the side of her temples, "How's daddy by the way?" she smirk him.

Hermione heard him growl before she slump back, her body twitch and jerk as she stifle a gasp as searing sharp-needle pain shot through-out her body. _Shit_, she curses inwardly. Her consciousness slightly slipping as she fought against Riddle's _Cruciatus_ curse_._

Riddle glared at her sprawled form on the floor. His glare intensified with every second that pass by. As much as the girl infuriates him, he has to admit, the girl has guts. "I underestimate you a little." He mutters nonchalantly as he lifted the curse.

"Five points for Slytherin." She snorted, spitting blood as she tries to bring herself up but failing miserably. "Did I hit a mark?"

"Enough, Granger. You're pushing your luck." Hermione pinch her lips in a tight line as she stares at him pacing the room while tapping his wand in an in idle manner. His eyebrows nit together, lost in his thoughts.

Again, Tom mentally adds another note to the pile of unsolved mystery about the French girl. True, if Tom wants answers he has to go about it in a devious manner. The girl was smart—almost as he is, if he cares to admit. If she was the same year as he is, she would be a serious contender and as much as Tom wants a challenge, he doesn't like people stealing his spot.

Although, as smart as she is, she is a bit Gryffindor-like definitely ruled with emotions, proving his theory when she came running to save the young Black from his torture curse. As much as Tom wants to gauge her, it's better to not push his luck. Salazaar forbids, if she finally realizes what he's doing, she'd revert back to bringing her guard back up.

He sighed, frustrated at the discovery. She knew a lot about him than anyone else in a short amount of time. Alarm bells and sirens exploded inside his mind alerting him of the danger. Tom firmly concludes that Hermione Granger **is** dangerous.

Question now, was how? True enough, it wasn't Dumbledore. Because if Dumbledore knew, he'd be lock away in Azkaban last year with what happened with the Ravenclaw fiasco. So definitely not Dumbledore. Hmmm… Grindelwald, perhaps? Unlikely. He doesn't even know Tom Riddle exist and partially, Granger is running away from him.

He looked at her nervous, sprawled form on the floor. A flash of his dreams came to mind, the girl in his dreams was definitely her. She appeared out of nowhere in a spectacular burst of fire for an entrance, Tom knew apparition does not look like that, or portkey travels for that matter.

For months, Tom dreamed about her, he knew before hand he was destined to find her—owned her even, and here she is now, sprawled on the floor in a seemingly gracefully manner, her face mirrors fear and anxiety, it sent tingles to his spine.

He smirks at her, sending another torture curse to her. He watch her twitch and jerk, a soft gasped escape her bruise lips and he chuckles at her, a small trickle of blood slid at the corner of her lips. Satisfied, he lifts the curse off of her before he kneeling down, watching her heavily breathing, her eyes in a tight squeeze.

"T-that was…" she gulps, exasperated, "… uncalled for."

"Cheeky, you are." He yank both her arms, and roughly pulls her up, "Get up bitch."

Her body stumbles towards his body, his one hand effortlessly encircles her waist, and the other held her back. Her head leaning to his chest, Hermione swearing she could hear the beating of his heart, which she doubts exist.

"You know 'bitch' is really not a term of endearment." She mutters breathlessly, hearing him chuckle. She flinch, as he yank a fist full of her hair, flexing her head to look at him.

"So tell me," leaning to her ear, "How'd you found out, when I haven't told anyone?"

Hermione stiffened, blinking astonished as realization hit her. _Shit_. _Fucking shit._ Her mind started jumbling, a million things jumping all at once.

How could she forget? Wasn't she supposed to be keeping the future a secret? She unconsciously bit her lower lip, tearing her gaze from him. She was utterly dead. Riddle isn't stupid enough to let this go.

She felt him jerk her head as he leaned in to press his lips on her. It was rough and hard, he was pushing her towards him, hungrily biting her lower lip for entrance. She let out a whimper and he immediately slips his tongue inside her mouth, she choke in response.

She struggles from his embrace, wiggling herself as she tries to pry her body away from him but he didn't budge, instead his hands grip tighter around her and she whimper, a dull ache around her back and shoulder where his hands grips her.

He pulls away, catching his breath. His eyes cloudy, on a shade of grey gazing at her hungrily. He leans back again, but Hermione turns away, sinking her teeth to his shoulders, hard. He hisses his grip loosens a little, pulling her away from him.

His hands automatically comforted his bruise shoulder. Hermione's head snaps to the side, a sting on her cheek were Riddle's hand impacted not mere seconds ago. Her hand shot up to caress the reddening part of her cheeks, biting back the tears that were starting to swell from her eyes as she stumbles back, again falling to the ground.

"I can't wait to break you." He mockingly compliment her, eyeing her.

She looked at him astonished. She was about to retort but stop, when she heard the entrance door, shuffle open. She turns around, her eyes alert and hoping that it was Slughorn visiting, but sadly, it was just another Slytherin coming in with the greatest bad luck and wrong timing and Vivienne Greengrass.

"Alphard, Vivienne" Riddle acknowledge in a sighed, tearing his gaze away from Hermione before straightening his back. Both of them inclined there head, Vivienne in a deep bow, while the boy next to her inclined his head slightly at Riddle's direction.

"Hermione, this is Alphard Black, Cygnus' older brother." Tom introduce, gesturing to the tall, black haired boy beside Vivienne. Tom held his hand out; Hermione look at his hands, hesitatingly placing her's. She felt herself pull up, feeling Riddle's hand at the small of her back. Hermione prompt her eyes close in a prayer to repel the shiver that is threatening to escape.

"_C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer_" she stammered awkwardly to greet, inclining her head to the Boy. Tom watched the exchange with a charming smile.

"How's Cygnus doing?" Tom question, the smile still on his face and his hand now encircling Hermione's waist.

The boy stiffened, his cold stare hard on Riddle, "Alright, I presume. What bad luck, to fall from a flight of stairs, isn't it?" he questioned through gritted teeth. His hands clench at his sides.

"Bad luck it is." Riddle smirked at him, daring him to challenge Tom. Riddle's smirked grew wider as the boy looked away from him, his face stone hard. Tom turn to Vivienne, "Take her to her room." He ordered and Vivienne gestured Hermione to follow her, to which Hermione gladly did.

As soon as Hermione's shadow disappeared, Riddle turned back towards the boy, whipping his wand so abruptly that left the boy unguarded, "_Crucio_."

The boy buckled on the floor, his stifled screams mildly envelope the empty common room, after a few seconds, Riddle lifted the curse and slowly made his way to the twitching boy, "You disappoint me Black, especially your brother." He muttered.

The boy looked up, and glared at him, "I only ask him to do this simple task for me, so simple even an idiot could do it." He smirked at the sprawled boy on the floor. "… yet he couldn't get the job done." He muttered darkly.

"So what do you propose for me to do, Black?" he asks mockingly, a quirk of a smirk appearing. Alphard looked at him in disdain, he didn't attempt to stand up; instead letting his knuckles turn white as he clench.

Riddle quirked an eyebrow, sending a _Crucio _again. Tom watched Alphard twitch and scream on the floor, a satisfied smile gracing his angelic face. He chuckled slightly as a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his lips. He knelt down, grabbing a fist full of Alphard's night black hair and yanked it back. Alphard grit his teeth as he glared ominously at Tom.

"Answer me Black." Tom hissed dangerously and Alphard wince at him.

"Punish them." Alphard muttered to gritted teeth, glaring at Tom. Tom smirk, shoving Alphard's head harshly towards the floor before standing up and straightening his robes.

"Yes, punish them. I like that." Tom commented, smiling innocently at the sprawled Black.

"I hate useless people." He exclaimed like it was a fact, dwindling his wand as he eyed him cautiously. "Good thing, you're a Black." He mock, getting himself up, walking towards the door and exiting the common room.

The sprawled boy, heave a heavy sigh at the sound of his retreating footsteps before he stood up and went to his room, without much of a backward glance.

.

.

Hermione silently followed Vivienne as they head towards her room, not giving a backward glance to people left in the common room.

"You shouldn't do that, Granger." Vivienne warned as they arrived at Hermione's door room. Hermione look up and nod at her, before proceeding to twist the knob open. She was about to push it open, when suddenly Vivienne grasp her wrist, prompting her to look at the older girl.

"I mean it, Granger. Riddle is bad news." Vivienne warned, letting Hermione's hand go and gestured her to go inside her room.

.

.

As Hermione closed the door behind her, she could feel her knees buckled and her stomach churned. Immediately, diving towards the comfort of her bed, Hermione buried her face into her feathered pillow. Ignoring the ranging lightning and booming thunder that came as the night drew near. Her thoughts drifted back to Riddle and the scene that happened not mere moments ago.

Her heart wrench, watching Cygnus suffer. The way his body twitch in agony and his screams, her memories that she so hid to the depths of her mind resurface and she was force again to suffer the pains of those she had long forgotten.

_Oh god. _She didn't realize as she started sobbing into her pillow. She kept picturing the faces of those she had left behind. Her parents, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, Fred, George, Bill, Percy, Charlie, Ginny, Neville, Terry, Luna, Lavender, Patil Twins, Cho, Cedric, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall, Snape, Ron, Harry…

She could have ended it. Kill Riddle that was all it took. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't have the heart to kill him.

Why?

Why couldn't she just kill Riddle?

He was dangerous even in his past self. So why couldn't Hermione do it?

No matter how much she questioned herself, she couldn't find the answer. She shuffled out of her bed, undressing herself and leaving her clothes on the floor, before easing to a cold shower in the bathroom.

Cold water, sprinkled to her face and she made to grab the bar of soap, she viciously starts scrubbing herself. Her nails digging deeper into her skin, until red lesions starting coming from the places where she scrub. She flinches at the sting when the soap suds touches the wound, but she quickly dismissed it. The pain was nothing compared to the atrocious feeling that was crawling underneath her skin. She wanted to rip it out of her.

How could she feel safe within Riddle's arm? Shouldn't she be shaking? But the moment when she felt his palm touch her stained cheeks, it was unbelievably gentle and comforting that drew her into it.

She snapped her head. Shaking, she must be going out of her mind. Riddle was anything but gentle and comforting.

Realizing that it was completely useless, she threw the bar of soap in frustration, slumping onto the marbled tub, panting heavily.

Cold water, continued to sprinkle and involuntarily she trace the contours of her lips remembering the feel of his lips. Riddle kissed her _twice_. She felt bile coming up her throat and scrambled towards the toilet, vomiting what's left of her stomach.

How could she like it? How could she like the way his hands encircled her waist and pulled her towards him as he kissed her?

She felt disgusted and angry towards herself. Why is this happening to her? What had she ever done to deserve this? Better yet? Why suffer this cruelty? She didn't deserve this. Why must she take the hard way out, when there is a perfectly easier one?

She shuffled out bathroom, into her dorm room, grabbing her wand from her bed and with shaking hands, points the stick to her neck.

_Come on, Hermione. Just say it._ She mindly told herself. She shut her eyes tight, chanting the Unforgivable in her mind into a mantra. "_Avada…_" she started, swallowing a lump nervously.

She could feel her body shaking, from cold or fear, she didn't care. "Come on!" she hissed, clutching her wand in both trembling hands. She gritted her teeth, growling as she threw her wand furiously, "Aghh!"

"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!" she screamed at particularly no one, silent tears scrolled down her face "IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN FUCKING DO!"

"YOU THINK I'D JUST GIVE UP ON EVERYTHING? YOU'RE WRONG! I'M NOT WEAK! YOU HEAR ME! I'M NOT WEAK!"

Exasperated, she felt her knees buckle, slumping down into a crunch; her hands snake to bring her knees towards her chest into a fetal position. Droplets of water slide across her naked body, her hair slightly damp flowed down, stuck to her back, and she shivered to the cold breeze that came from her open window.

"I'm not weak…" she muttered in a faded whispered. Her breath deep, shallow and fast and her heart hammering through the bone cage of her chest.

She settled for a minute to calm, before looking up. The storm was ranging still outside, she turned to her wall clock, _8:03_ it read, she had missed dinner. She shrugged, it's not like she's hungry anyway.

Strangling to stand, she went to pick up her wand that landed just beside her trunk. Whipping the stick, she magically donned her night gown; fix to a dry her hair, before she sunk into her bed. She knew as she drifted off to sleep, that tonight would be the first of many nights of her dreaded nightmares.

.

.

A week has passed since there last encounter. It would be a month that she came back to Hogwarts and Hermione avoided Riddle like a plague. She spend most of her time cope up in the library, her hand reassuringly touching the parchments inside her school robes that permits her to enter the Restricted Section.

It came just three days ago, an owl tapping her bedside window. It was a day pass and she couldn't afford to waste it. Instead she research all she could find mostly about time-traveling and the mysterious E.J. Lippincott before she opted to use her pass.

She incline her head to the side, she was currently reading the list of records of Witch and Wizards attending Hogwarts a few years back, when her thoughts drifted back to the night after her encounter with Riddle in the common room.

_Hermione glared at the white-black colored bearded man seated in his oak-leathered arm chair, lazily looking over parchments through his square glasses that glistened at the flick of the candle light._

_Shifting the weight to-and-fro of her legs, she narrowed her eyes further at him, her fingers curled into a tight hold around her wand inside her robe pocket. "Professor, about the permission—"_

"_Miss Granger," he cut her off as he look up, placing the parchment his holding down his desk, "There's no harm done to wait off a little time."_

"_BUT I HAVE WAITED LONG ENOUGH! And don't you dare lecture me about virtues, you know I don't have the time or patience in me left." she exclaimed, slamming both her palms on his wooden desk, inciting a sharp bang._

"_These are banned books you're asking me, Miss Granger. You think I'd let my students be harmed? I am a teacher!" he retorted, adjusting his glasses to get a proper look at her._

"_And you're responsible to keep the student safe from dangers." She reasoned, "These so called 'dangers' are hidden in the depths of my mind, and there is no use denying it, you and I both know."_

"_Then tell me Miss Granger, what are you looking for?" he leaned his back at his rest, prompting his hands over his bulging stomached as he eyed her in calculative manner._

_She huffed, exasperated that she looked away from his face that was getting on her nerves. "E.J. Lippincott…" she said in a faded whisper._

"_Excuse me?" he inquired again, leaning forward, his one brow quirk._

_She sighed, "I'm looking for a book written by E.J. Lippincott."_

"_I believe Mister Lippincott is as loony as the Lovegoods." He hushed, dismissing her with the wave of his hands._

"_Well you're one to judge. But that's not any of your business. I have a mind of my own, and it's up to me whether I believe it or not." She mutters defiantly. Albus sighs at her, nodding his head._

"_Fine. If you really insist Miss Granger. I'll be sending the permit to you tomorrow morning."_

Hermione sigh, closing the book she was reading. There were no records that a Lippinncott went to Hogwarts. She took out her folded parchment from her robe, marching to the Librarian before trotting towards the Restricted Section.

The books of the Restricted Section was how Hermione remembered it; old, dusty, and evil. Her hands lazily feather touch the back covers, her eyes darting from one title to another until she found a more suitable tittle.** Space, Time, and Time-traveling** written by Elijah Jones. Well, it wasn't the Lippincott book she was looking, but the initials do match. Sadly it was the only book that talks about time relatively; she snatches the book from the shelf and stuffing it back into her beaded bag.

She went further down the shelf, looking for a book about the four founders of Hogwarts, recalling about the artifacts used by Riddle for his Horcrux and a book about magical snakes and dark spells and enchantments.

Exiting the section, she went back to her table at the farthest corner of the library. She plop herself comfortably into her transfigured leather chair as she flip open her book.

After a few minutes of reading and feeling hopeless by the second as the book talk about nothing but how time and space are connected. She was about to give up, when a portion caught her attention.

_There are still mix theories about time-traveling, such that there are certain circumstances when one is to travel back in time. For example, if a contradictory appears where to beings exist in one time frame, such time frame will create a limbo. In the theory of time, like webs of the spider, each universe is interconnected with each other. Such that each time frame is pre-determine to a set of choices and outcomes._

_We call this, Time-space jump, where one individual jumps from one time frame to another in a time span of more than your years of existence. Although the similarities are there, but the outcomes and the futures differ, therefore there are a billion set of pre-determine time frames._

_So if one is to travel back into time more than one's age, paradox does not happen. Instead, the time-frame will register your existence as qualified and no limbo happens…_

Hermione look up from her reading. Rereading the last three paragraphs, to Hermione it made sense. The reason why she wasn't trap in the limbo because she does not exist in this time frame and according to it, she being her was already pre-determine, therefore she really was destined to go back in time.

The question now is whether the future she knew will still follow the same pattern as the one she knew? Well if she remembers correctly, the time of Myrtle's death did not stray from the her time frame, so she could basically concluded that this time frame wasn't much different from hers, well… except for the fact that she here.

Thinking back, by now Riddle should be finished with two Horcrux, he graduated; the diary and ring. But she wasn't sure still **if** he really made the damn Horcrux. She grunted, mentally adding the list of things she needs to find out before the school year ends. Plus the fact that she should be hunting the Founder's diadem before he does.

Hermione sighed. Base on the reading, going back to her time frame is next to impossible. She really won't be able to go back. She stifled a sob. All of a sudden, her chest tightens at the thought of what she left behind. Her parents, Her friends, and for all it's worth even Draco Malfoy. She was stuck in a time alone.

She hated being alone. It was first year all over again. At least, the ferret has the decency to just abuse her verbally, Riddle is as sadistic as he can get. The bruise from her cheek and shoulders were blue and black by the time morning came and Hermione has to charm to hide it. Now it healed a little, the discoloration wasn't evident anymore, but the dull pain is still there.

Fighting Riddle was like talking to a mentally deprive child, he doesn't hold back; temper, mind, and mouth. It hurts and it's physically exhausting. She guesses her presence irks him as well as her mind. Like Harry once mentioned, Riddle was undefeated in Hogwarts, both in intelligence and spells and because of that he was detach, his world consist of him and him only. It wasn't everyday he could find someone that matches him unequivocally.

But now, she came to the picture bringing her mind, beauty and fake blood. To the pre set plans of Tom Riddle, Hermione appearing out of nowhere, tick him off balance. To say in understatement, she fit him like a glove. Maybe that's why Tom Riddle was hell-bent into breaking her.

It disturbs him to find someone of equal footing, when he so believe for the longest time that everyone was inferior to him. It did not settle in with him.

She came back from her thoughts, quick footsteps growing louder and nearer. Hermione snaps her book shut, putting it inside her beaded bag a second before a figure pop behind the aisle squaring her personal space. She look up to the exasperated figure of Vivienne Greengrass, her hair in disarray, her complexion pale and clammy.

"Vivienne…" Hermione trailed, wince from Vivienne's abrupt grip at her forearm.

"H-Hermione…" she starts breathlessly, "Please, I need your help."

Hermione look at her worriedly. As far as Hermione knows, Slytherins don't ask for help or beg no less. Vivienne worn out and tired form, alert Hermione that something is definitely wrong, smelling Riddle's name hanging in the air. Without uttering a word, she inclines Vivienne as they hurriedly went out from the library down to the Slytherin dungeons.

With Vivienne leading it wasn't long till they arrive at the Slytherin Common room. A crowd has gathered already in a refined way, such that some of them settled in a comfortable way, like they are watching a play in an opera house. Their eyes focus on two figures, one sitting on a leather couch, the other standing, his wand pointing dangerously at the other.

"Come on, Black. Say it." The man sitting lazily on his leather chair, mocks the other guy whom Hermione remembered to be Cygnus older brother, Alphard.

"I know you killed the girl Riddle, you think you can get away with it but you're not! When Dumbledore finds out, you'd be seeing for life in Azkaban!" Alphard exclaims, to which Riddle returned with a smirk, following a chuckle.

Without much an explanation from Vivienne, Hermione could get a gist already with what is going on and now, she could understand as to why Vivienne needed her help.

Stepping to the front from the crowd, Hermione barely stop Riddle's curse by casting a _Protego_ infront of Alphard, but Riddle's curse was stronger, shattering her conjured shield and blowing Alphard back towards the stoned floor.

"Riddle, that's enough." Hermione dangerously, stepping into the field. Riddle smirks at her, noting her uncanny appearance to save the day.

"Miss Granger, here to save the day again?" he mockingly taunts her.

"No…" she gulps. Hermione didn't know yet, but the next thing she said might be the worst idea she has ever come up in her entire life. "Riddle, enough with this. I know what you want and I'll give it to you…"

Tom quirked an eyebrow at her, calculatively.

"But…" she inhaled deeply, "I have a proposition for you."


	5. Author's Alert!

**AUTHOR'S ALERT!**

I've been getting a lot of FLAMES in my message inbox for a while now about _Unforgivable Basorexia_. A lot of them pointed out some things I do agree on, things like grammatical errors which I have no qualms with because it's true I do have poor grammar skills that's why I've been stating in my Author's note that I am sorely dependent on my BETA who is currently on tour. Now I'm BETA-less, that's why it took me a long time to update. I didn't want to post a chapter unedited, but since people requested, I didn't want to disappoint them.

I don't think it is an excuse to say I'm an amateur that's why my story is shitty. In fact, I openly embrace hard-place, slap-on-the-face kind of reviews but these reviews should be relevant to the story. Like wrong facts that I haven't announce ahead or stuff that don't coincide.

Moving on, it is not that I'm bashing or anything, but it really gets on my nerves when some people comment about how they don't like Hermione's or Riddle's character or that they don't like how "too" dark the story is, how psychologically twisted it is…

… really?

If you hate it so much, you really don't have to read it. I'm not really forcing you to like it. But you don't have the right to tell me how I should write Hermione's and Riddle's character or the story the way I like it. Although I'm borrowing the Universe from J.K. Rowling (the whole point of DISCLAIMERS), I didn't really stray much from a very realistic approach.

To enlighten everyone, Riddle's character is based upon Adolf Hitler and the theory of Narcissism with a dose of paranoia and extreme anxiety. That's why he is very sadistic when it comes to control and dominance. Hermione on the other hand is a bit OOC from the typical hero-complex.

Imagine yourself stuck in a room alone with a psychologically-challenge murderer, what would you do? SURVIVE. That's how I picture Hermione Granger. Instead of being impulsive and brass, she steps back and thinks, devise a plan and execute it stealthily. This is Riddle she's up against. She needs to be as cunning as Riddle to be able to stand in equal footing with him, that's why I place her in Slytherin. She takes the beating and abuse because she knows, in terms of magic, she flat out lose. Instead, she used her mind to fight Riddle (Like she normally does), outwit him as possible, because that's what she's good at.

Now, since I've already spoiled you about the whole story, I'm beginning to rethink whether or not, I should continue this story. Because not to be a brat or anything, I got a tired of trying to reply explanations as to why this story goes as it is and the explanations really do give out a lot of spoilers and I'm really getting depress about it.

So if you want for me to continue it, REVIEW, COMMENT, OR PM me. Let me know you still want to read it.

BTW, the story is really long, I'm in no rush at all, so to those who suggested for me to take it slow, don't worry the story is really slow… well not really. Just expect the unexpected but that depends whether or not, I would like to continue it.

Really, tell what you think?

SO SORRY FOR THE RANT.

-cersei


	6. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: Oh yeah, didn't y'all know now? C",)**

**Author's Note: **7,248 views! *yay* I would like to thank everyone who encourage me to continue the story. I do still get hate mails in my inbox, mostly stating that they felt offended when I wrote the Author's Alert, but yeah, I've already resolve myself to ignore them. To everyone who cheered me on, it brought tears to my eyes because I felt that my story was really appreciated. Anyway… best get moving

This story has not yet been proofread with BETA. So it's all my doing at this point on. Anyway, I hope every one enjoys, here's the real CHAPTER FIVE.

BTW, this story is chapter and I don't know why, no matter how hard I try, it just won't lengthened itself So anyway, there is a bit Alphard/Hermione thing but that just phase I'm using to insert some points I want to add through the course of the story.

**Warning!** This story is rated M for a reason. It has mild graphic lemons and language, read it at your own risk.

READ AND REVIEW

.

.

**Chapter Five**

Atonement

.

.

Hermione stared unmoving at the sleeping boy lying on the hospital cot of Hogwarts Infirmary. She noted the bruise on his cheeks and the dust on his school robes. Pulling her wand from her robe pocket she cast a cleaning charm and a few healing spells of her own before she slip it back inside.

She turn to the bed beside him, where his brother lay, sleeping. According to the medi-witch, he was slipping in and out of consciousness for the past few days, from the sleeping draught he was force to drink and exhaustion but ultimately was okay nonetheless.

Truly, Riddle's Cruciatus Curse is no joke.

She sighs, holding her beaded purse close to her.

.

"_Proposition?" he arched a brow at her, crossing his legs and leaning back to his leather chair already completely disregarding the sprawled form of Alphard Black._

_Hermione gulp, "Yes, a _proposition_."_

_Riddle stare at stoically, smirking as the second pass before he chuckles lightly, "What could you possibly have that I want?"_

_Forcefully, Hermione stares at Riddle square on the eyes, "A journal."_

"_Ha! A journal? Whose journal, yours?" he mocks, laughing to which the forgotten crowd willing followed, the room erupting in a low half-hearted laughter._

"_No." she narrowed her eyes, rummaging her beaded purse and pulling out a dusty green-leathered journal, "Salazar Slytherin's journal."_

_Riddle chuckles died down, his eyes slants as he glares at her in calculative manner, "Bogus." He called._

"_Genuine." She countered, a slight smirk gracing the corner of her lips, "Shall I give you a peek?"_

_Hermione eyed the graceful man, his face in a blank, stoic façade. He was simply looking at her, boringly. If she didn't knew better, Riddle's mind has been running into overdrive. Of course, Hermione too, she's barely keeping it together, concentrating her muscles to relax and appear unnerve when in fact deep down she getting crazier with every second that pass._

_Truly, Hermione made a very BIG move by presenting the journal. Thinking back, she didn't remember putting it inside her beaded purse, guessing that Harry blindly stuff it without bothering to read and merely going with his guts. Thankfully, Harry did right by doing so. She knew about the journal a few months back, after getting settled in her room in Beauxbatons, she started rummaging her purse for nothing in particular._

_A few items, mostly trinkets (Harry's Invincibility cloak and Marauder's Map) and a few of the twin's joke items. Several books, most are rare, some dark, and some written by unknown authors, among them are journals written by the founders, probably passed down from headmaster to headmaster. _

_Rowena's journals mostly talks about her conquest for knowledge, the tiara, and her life through Hogwarts till the birth of her daughter, Helena. Helga's journal is not much a journal but a book of recipes of potions and food-related charms. Godric's journal was mainly about his exploits and heroic adventures, the most entertaining is the civil war that broke out between him and Salazzar. Well, Salazar's journal was by far the most interesting among the four, mainly because some part of the journal is written in Parseltongue, lines and curves which are too confusing; Hermione would sometimes think he wrote the same word over and over again. Some parts of his journals talks mostly about the dark spells and enchantments he created or learned. One page was about his locket to which Hermione rip out half of the page in an obvious manner._

_Hermione's choice by revealing the journal to Riddle was a big risk, but it was worth it with what she came up as a plan. Grudgingly, from the book about times, if it is true, Hermione maybe stuck in another time frame. How close this time frame is to her time, she did not know. That's why she's currently investigating by comparing the key points of her time to this. One key point is the existence of the Horcrux. This year, Riddle should be able to complete two Horcruxs, the Gaunt's ring and his diary. Next was the locket. If Riddle comes running back to her to ask about the rip page, then the possibility of Riddle making Horcrux is bigger._

_He studied her for a second. True, His mind was currently jumbling a thousand thoughts at a time; front row was the revelation of the existence of Slytherin's journal. Doubtful, he did not know of Salazar's journals. Obviously, the Gaunt's library is as sparse as it can get. If the journal is as genuine as she says, then the journal was ever much his by birth right._

"_If it is really Salazar's journal as you so say," he paused a second, "then by birth right, it is mine."_

"_True." She nervously folded her hands over her chest, tucking the journal over her arms, "but since I am currently the keeper, and that you didn't know of its existence until I revealed it then by consequence it is mine."_

_Riddle stared at her blankly, nothing pass his face as he look at her stoically. Tightening her grip of the journal, she stared back at him, trying her hardest not to look away._

_For a minute, no one said a word. Riddle heaves a sigh, making Hermione jump from the sudden change of his demeanor. He shoos the crowd with a wave of his hand and immediately everyone started filling out of the common room, Vivienne levitating Alphard's unconscious body out from the dungeon door. "Well then, Granger. State your proposition."_

_Hermione inhaled deeply, "A book for a life." Her gaze traveled to the place where Alphard's unconscious form land mere moments ago, "Two lives."_

_Riddle graceful stand, making his way towards her, brought back her attention. "Two lives," giving a light snap with his head, "that's quite expensive."_

"_They are not to be harm, not even a single hair of their heads. If you promise me that, then the journal is yours." She said firmly._

"_That's unacceptable, Granger. They have sworn their lives to me—" He snarled._

"_Then a simple promise of safety isn't going to change anything." She interjects, reaching out her hand which held the journal to him. "Deal?"_

_He looked at her for a minute, his hand reaching out to clutch the journal to his._

"_Deal."_

.

Hermione snaps back to the slight shift of Alphard's body. He let out a small cough as his eyes flutters open. Adjusting to his vision, he groans trying to sit up but finding the sore of his back. Hermione held his shoulder to assist him gently.

"Easy now." She comforts gently, "You hit your back pretty bad."

"_Fuck_." He groans, massaging his aching back. "I didn't think a Cruciatus hurt much for me to faint."

"You fainted from the aftermath of Riddle's curse and my _Protego_." She comments, sitting on the empty chair that stood beside his cot.

"I didn't ask for your help." He hisses, glaring at her.

She narrowed her eyes back, "I didn't do it to save your sorry arse. I did it for Vivienne because she begged and because I owe Cygnus."

Alphard glance over his shoulder to the sleepy form of his brother. "I am still not grateful. You do not understand the ways under the house of Slytherins."

"I perfectly know them and your silly blood—"

"You have shame us—my family, my brother, and me!" he half-yelled, half-whispered accusingly at her, his eyes fuming at her figure. "I come from a family whose blood line lasted through hundreds of generations and for _I_ to have been the first to shame it, I wanted to die."

"I have prostrated myself to someone whose origin is questionable. Do you not know how much humiliation it causes me? And more so I have been defended by no more than a measly girl, just add salt to injury!" he exclaims.

"Well then," she cough, straightening her back, "Deal with it. You and I both know, Riddle is out of our league. He is Salazar's heir for a reason. You must be dumb enough to even suggest a duel."

He looks at her surprisingly, "So it's true then? He really is Slytherin's heir."

"Like all other heirs of great wizards are." She says in a matter-of-fact tone. "Like Dumbledore is to Merlin and Helena is to Rowena. Their magic comes from a long line of power."

"Then Riddle did open the Chamber of Secrets last year." He comments in a daze, "He really did kill the girl..."

"We must tell the headmaster about this—"

"NO!" Hermione protest, gripping the side of her chair, "Don't say a word. He has the Headmaster wrap around his finger with just his demeanor and grades, we don't need to add to the pile. Riddle is a manipulative bastard to the bone, he can bend and twist the bad into good with a few good words and his face."

"His face?" he quirks an eyebrow at her.

She scoffs, "Dreadfully, yes. His _face_."

"Well," he pauses, "It's understandable."

Hermione eyed him for a second, a deafening silence envelopes them for a minute, "What do you intend to do after you graduate?" she inquires.

He pauses, a deliberate it for a second, "Work at the ministry I suppose, then take over the family when I come of age." He states, "You?"

She looks at him contemplating her words, "I haven't thought that far yet. Probably bring down Riddle to whatever mountains he climbs."

He looks at her for a second, studying. Alphard for the first time, notes the girl in front of him. She was beautiful even under the moonlight that was shining through the glass window of the infirmary. Her hair was curled to her side, she wore light make-up with the exception of her red lips to which he notices was becoming a trend in the Slytherin common room, her robes elegantly dangle on her petite yet curvy body. Her face was peacefully enchanting even as she scrunches her nose in annoyance or furrows her brows if frustrated.

He now understood why boys, even from other houses, talk about her. Even he understood a little of Riddle's sick obsession of her. She was enticing and intelligent to say the least, but mysterious enough to keep her distance. She was brave and couragous to be a Gryffindor, kind and hardworking to be a Hufflepuff, and intelligent enough to be a Ravenclaw. But the hat chose her to be in Slytherin; A den full of conniving, backstabbing snakes.

Alphard suddenly has a sinking feeling of wanting to possess her. To own and cage her, resolute to never letting her go. He hastily grabs her hand which startled her.

"Black, wh—"

"Runaway with me." He mention, startling Hermione.

"_Excuse me?_"

"You're not obligated to ruin Riddle, _Hermione—"stressing_ her name, "He can be damn for all I care. But you, I ask you to run away with me. After I graduate, I'll cash out all of my inheritance and buy a small cottage by the sea, you and I can live there for the rest of our lives—"

She snatch away her hand from him, her eyes set on him.

"_Black,_" she started. "You don't need to protect me. I can take care of myself. I am not obligated to ruin Riddle, but I chose to be. You don't love me, Black. _This_—"emphasizing her hand to the both of them, "This is nothing Black."

"But I can't let you get hurt. I know Hermione; I know what he does to you when no one is looking. To him, you are just another challenge he wants to overcome. A thing he wants to break and bend to his every will.—"

"I know." She softens her gaze at him, "Thank you, but no, I don't want to run away with you."

He looks away, dejected. His jaw clench, _of course, Riddle always win,_ he thought bitterly. Hermione observe his reaction and true, he wasn't much please with the outcome.

"Black," he turn his attention back to her. She stood up from her chair and started darting off towards the exit of the infirmary, "Do me a favor, you owe me."

"What favor?"

She pauses and inhales deeply, "If you really want to thank me, and then pay your kindness to the next persons that need it."

He looks at her, confuse "How will I know if that person is the right person?"

"You'll know." She said, as she disappeared behind the doors.

.

Riddle fumes, his glare boring halls into the old paperback, his grips onto the sides of the journal, as he stares bitterly at the torn page. Not mere moments ago, he was reading peacefully, enjoying the life story and adventures of his predecessor; his goals, his work and his travels. But as soon as he turns the pages that continue from the fore where it talks about the family line and heirloom, a page was torn deliberately clean in the middle, half of the information lost.

He grits his teeth, his jaw clench as he snaps the book to a close. He stared the crackling of the fire under the fireplace, his thoughts wonder back to the ginger head, French minx.

Honestly, the girl never ceases to surprise him. With the fact that she knew every little secret he had oh-so buried in the deepest of his mind, it confuses him to no end.

Who was this girl? God! It was giving him a headache. Honestly, the girl was a walking paradox, knowing everything at the same time knowing nothing.

He broke into a smirk. Oh! He was tingling at the prospect of breaking her slowly, limb by limb. Tearing the shields she had pulled up, and enjoys the secrets that she held so deeply into her. An image flash of her face, drench in her tears and his smile broaden.

Soon, he'll know who this girl is. And he will enjoy every minute of breaking her. True, the girl was getting on his nerves lately, but probably it was part of her charm.

He summons Abraxas Malfoy from the seventh year common room.

"Write to your father Malfoy. Tell him you wanted to know if the ministry has any records concerning of our Slytherin Princess." He orders, shoving his hands inside his pant's pocket.

The blonde nod, grabbing a new parchment from his stand and started scribbling the letter. Malfoy shows him the parchment and Tom nod in approval. Malfoy immediately excuse himself as he rushes towards the school owlerly.

He went back to his seat, in front of the fire place. He grab a book from his back, and started flipping to the page where he left off. He pulls out his wand and starts twirling it with his fingers, as a smirk grace his pale complexion,

"Legilimency…"


End file.
